Mar
3
I have been playing a festive internet game of Colic, GERD, or Perfectly Normal Baby?, which involves typing up random google strings like “baby spitting up like Linda Blair”, and “infant appears to be attempting to shit a large pinecone” and seeing what kind of results I get. I have of course now diagnosed Dylan with many, many afflictions, including housemaid’s knee, infection of the blowhole, and perhaps most accurately, Mother’s Complaint.
I thought I had the spitting-up thing figured out when we switched to a smaller bottle nipple size, but we’re back to the endless laundry cycles, and now there’s these other things going on, like the writhing, turning-bright-red-and-screaming, stiff-bodied thing/drawn-up-legs he does during a feeding. It’s like he’s horribly gassy, but burping produces little results. It seems like he eats all the time, but only takes an ounce or two at most at each feeding, and every meal involves such an exhausting amount of fussing/spitting up/thrashing around I can’t imagine it’s very pleasant for him. It’s certainly unpleasant for ME, and since I feel like I’m feeding him at least every couple hours around the damn clock (not consistently true, but true enough) — well, I’ve been in cheerier states of mind, I’ll just say that.
He also seems to have a hair-trigger gag reflex, which seems entirely unfair. I mean, who ever heard of a baby who gagged on a binky? If he sort of chokes on his milk, he gags. If his nose is all plugged up and he inhales wrong, he gags. One gag, and it’s all over — I’ve learned to scoop him up and aim him over the sink, because otherwise I’ll just be scrubbing curdled stomach contents out of the couch again (sorry, were you maybe trying to eat lunch?).
I know mothers are supposed to bond with their children during feedings but if there was some sort of Roomba that could take care of this child’s nutritional needs I would buy it in a heartbeat and not feel bad for one hot second.
He’s got a 1-month checkup coming soon so I’ll see what the pediatrician says, although I’m guessing I won’t hear anything like “You have a crabby, fussy baby who’s a pain in the ass to feed? Yes, this is indeed a unique and concerning situation for which I have just the right miracle pill.” Maybe we’ll try switching formulas again. Or maybe this has been part of the famed 3-week growth spurt and he’ll get his shit squared away soon. Or maybe I should just buy equal stock in Tide, Valium, and Red Bull.
Other than the whole draining-Mama’s-will-to-live thing, Dylan’s thriving quite nicely. He’s pudgening up a bit and losing some of that spindly tiny-baby look, he appears to be actually trying to look at things instead of staring blurrily at nothing, he does the funny marching-legs business I remember Riley doing when he was in an active state. Oh, and he’s also started perfecting that sneaky baby technique where they clutch the top of your shirt without you noticing and so when you go to lower them to a carseat or stroller or whatever one of your boobs pops out and says howdy.
I love this kid and I know things are going to improve, we just have to motor through this rough period and eventually we’ll get to some easier days.
(I want to also say that I am so grateful for your presence and comments and support right now, and I cannot tell you how much it helps to be reminded I’m not alone with these parenting struggles. Thank you for listening, and enduring all this baby blather.)
Lastly:
The boy can’t clear a fence yet, but he’s well on his way to following his father’s footsteps.
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