Tilt-A-Whirl Mama

I'm preparing to go back to work and, besides the long hours of work I'm not thrilled with, I'm worried about my poor poor second child.

She's such a sweetie pie, so easy going during the day. But in the evening, during the witching hour between six and eight, she needs movement; a specific type of movement. I hold her tight against me by her head and bottom and rock back and forth. When she cries, I swing her back and forth, faster and faster until she could stay against me by centrifugal force alone. I'm a human Tilt-A-Whirl. It takes time and is tiring and after a long day I'd much rather be doing something else like sitting on my butt. But I rock her and walk her and swing her because she's my sweetie pie and she wants it.

But when I go to work, who will do this for her? It's too strenuous for grandma and Kent just can't get the hip swivel right. Going back to work turns me into the toothless carnie who tells everyone the Tilt-A-Whirl is closed.