Ellie, although she can be generally contained in a simple velcro swaddle for her naps*, has begun to wriggle herself out of it.
I don’t mind that she does it. I mean, it was only to be expected. But I do, ridiculously and counter intuitively and contradictorily mind that she makes it looks so easy. I mean – and this is where I get a little crazy, and I know that so you don’t have to tell me – she doesn’t even bother to wake up. It’s like she has no respect for the effort I put into tying her arms down. Humph.
*Don’t even ask about the nighttime; there’s a swaddle blanket with tabs and flaps and probably flanges, though I don’t know what flanges are so I can’t be certain, that needs two people to operate (and sometimes if Margaret helps, three people), and ties her arms down in seventeen different ways. She never escapes. Except for those few times when she did.