Dear internet. You’ve been warned.
I know how old I am. I know how old my husband is. I know exactly how long it took us to conceive this baby. And yes, I know that my eggs are getting older with each passing day.
But so help me jehosephat, the next person who asks me when we’re having baby #2 is going to get punched in the face.
I’m finally starting to really appreciate my first born. His big goofy smiles, when he’s spread out on the changing table and we’re singing my silly little made-up “Powder on Your Nuts” song. The way his eyes light up when he hears my voice. How he quiets down when I’m holding him and rocking him and singing “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” until all the beer is gone.
But his cranky moments far outnumber his happy ones. He starts out each morning full of grins and giggles; then refuses to nap for the rest of the day. He’ll start to nod off, then BAM!, his eyes fly open and he fights sleep like Muhammed Ali going for the heavyweight championship. By 3:00 in the afternoon, he’s an angry, inconsolable little tyrant of terror.
And I’ve tried putting him down and letting him cry it out. For two solid hours, he cried it out. That is clearly not the answer.
We’re still mixing his formula 50/50 with the Nestle Good Start regular and soy powders. I tried changing him over to all soy, but it upsets his belly to the point of agony. Tonight, he spent almost 2 hours after his bottle clenching his legs and curling his hands into tight little fists. And crying and crying and crying. Oh, God, the crying. Dave can’t take more than 15 minutes at a time, so I sit and rock him until he falls asleep. Or passes out. I’m honestly not sure which.
His doctor is on vacation this week, but I’m going to call her replacement tomorrow morning. I *know* he has acid reflux, even though his doctor doesn’t want to diagnose it. His spit up comes up with a vengeance, and it stinks of sour milk. Oftentimes, it comes out through his nose because his mouth can’t expel it all fast enough.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she’s a family practice doctor, and not a pediatrician. In any case, I called our local ask-a-nurse to ask if I could put a little bit of rice cereal in his bottle, and they said not to (choking hazard). Of course, they also claim I’m writing his obituary by letting him sleep on his belly. (Not that I’m making light of SIDS. Not by any stretch of the imagination.)
I feed him sitting upright, even though he prefers to lie down. I burp him midway through each feeding, and again at the end of the bottle. I keep him upright for at least 20 minutes after the bottle is empty. I tried propping up the end of his bassinet; but he always ended up in a heap at the bottom of the mattress.
He sleeps so well at night. We can put him down around 10:30 – 11:00, and he usually sleeps straight through until 5:00 in the morning. Hooray for that! But boy, am I paying the price during the day.
There has to be a happy medium in there somewhere, right?!?
