Baby blues, and happy spitter. They sound pretty painless but actually will kick your ass. A happy spitter is a baby who spits up...A LOT. It's terrifying to feed your tiny little newborn only to watch them throw back up everything he just ingested. And it's even more frustrating when you are reduced to eating graham crackers and chicken b/c you don't know why he can't keep your milk down. Suggestions from strangers inserted here (maybe he's lactose intolerant, allergic to dairy, green things might make him gassy, allergic to nuts, avoid the caffeine and chocolate oh yeah and carbonation or feed more or less or more often or less often or burp him more or burp him less, keep him upright or maybe you should lay him flat). I find the spitting up offensive and rude. It would be like if you invited me over for dinner and after you slaved away in the kitchen all day I promptly finished my meal and then stuck my finger down my throat and threw it back up...on you. HOW RUDE! He doesn't even appear embarrassed or mad about it. He just spits up on me or in my hair or down my back and then yells at me for more. Little tyrant! He's also taken to screaming like a frickin' wounded Teradactyl everytime we remove the bottle from his lips to try and get a burp out him. I know, I know tough love BUT if we let him scream and gasp in all that extra air then he's sure to spit up. It's kind of like when you binge drink and then hyperventilate while doing the roger rabbitt on the dance floor. Someone may stop you but chances are you have taken in waaaaaay too much air not to vomit! Same basic concept...man I miss college. He's lucky he's cute 'cause there's a fire station literally right down the street.
Baby blues sounds adorable doesn't it? Like maybe a cd you'd receive as a gift with purchase when you pick up the phone and order those pajama jeans! Well, it's not. As if it's not bad enough that I was reduced to a confused weepy mess meandering around the house with the ice pack or frozen peas shoved into my large cheap cotton after birth panties but then they gave it some dumbass name like baby blues. It's more annoying than when someone tells you you have a case of the Mondays and you're already in a bad mood. So let me get this straight. I can't sit down 'cause it feels like I'm sitting on a watermelon. I can't sleep because my child is either screaming his head off, spitting up in my face or shitting a waterfall of poo on me and now I'm going to laugh and cry at the same time! FREAKIN' AWESOME! Remind me again how teenage girls pull this off? Nevermind, teen mom marathon is on...this'll make me feel better!
P.S. I unfortunately have fallen madly in love with this little shit so I will be removing my "free to a good home" Craigslist ad and have a strange feeling my Facebook account is about to be overrun with close up shots of his face.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Holy freakin' game changer. This shit is NO joke!
I don't even know where to begin. He never came. He just never came. We waited and we waited and we waited....2 weeks late and HE NEVER CAME. I beg, pleaded and was to a reduced to a squishy naked blubbering ball on the floor begging for him to just come already and his response....silence. So, we induced. Basically we had to evict him or I think he may have lived inside me forever and I'm not a fan of home schooling so what else were we to do!
Well some people who read this blog don't have children so I'll spare you the nasty details of labor...I'll just touch on the highlights. When I asked my sister what labor was like she quoted the genius Amy Poehler in Baby Mama and said "felt like I was shitting knives" (I didn't believe her at that time). Now I do. I honestly thought I was going to be one of the 520 maternal deaths in US per year. I was going to become just a number. My husband would become a motivational speaker touring the country telling the tail and holding up our son while others cheered his strength and skinny young blonds stuffed their phone numbers in his pocket. Well, screw you skinny hoochies I lived! I lived. All I can say is thank you epidural. Yes, I said it! Thank you epidural. I went from a vomiting, crying, shaking mess to a well...just a nervous determined mess. A mere 22 hours after checking in we had a baby boy. Whew...now to keep him alive!
Well some people who read this blog don't have children so I'll spare you the nasty details of labor...I'll just touch on the highlights. When I asked my sister what labor was like she quoted the genius Amy Poehler in Baby Mama and said "felt like I was shitting knives" (I didn't believe her at that time). Now I do. I honestly thought I was going to be one of the 520 maternal deaths in US per year. I was going to become just a number. My husband would become a motivational speaker touring the country telling the tail and holding up our son while others cheered his strength and skinny young blonds stuffed their phone numbers in his pocket. Well, screw you skinny hoochies I lived! I lived. All I can say is thank you epidural. Yes, I said it! Thank you epidural. I went from a vomiting, crying, shaking mess to a well...just a nervous determined mess. A mere 22 hours after checking in we had a baby boy. Whew...now to keep him alive!
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