Where's that GD reciept?

I'm at my wits end, people. I am calling the pediatrician tomorrow morning and asking them--no, demanding--they get me in asap. Little d is just not getting better. In fact, he seems to be getting worse. In addition to not sleeping well, he's eating less. His eating pattern has gone from Every 2-3 Hours to Completely Erratic over the last week. This even after we got his Zantac dose adjusted according to the weight he's gained. To be honest, I don't think it's his reflux. Is it possible this kid is just colicky? I had asked the nurse that question weeks ago, but received a curt, "The don't diagnose colic any more." Well, bitch, something's going on and if it's not colic, somebody better find me a fucking answer. Because when your baby takes a few tugs off the bottle and then immediately doubles over in pain, something's wrong, okay? If he is colicky, fine, knowing that it's colic and not that he's missing part of his intestine or something would help us cope. He screamed for nearly three hours tonight when Mr. d merely touched the bottle to his lips. Mr. D and I are so tired and frustrated that we've been at each other's throats the last couple of days. He's not speaking to me at the moment if you really want to know. I fear that one of our jugulars are going to compromised before the week is over if we don't get this baby some relief.

Fun times at the Disgruntled house lately.

Lately meaning as in the last six weeks. Dude has been alive for eight and six of them he's been in near constant pain, been overdosed by his mother and bound up so bad he can't sleep. Umm, hi, that make me feel just AWESOME.

Today was particularly bad. He slept for shit during the day and fussed all evening. He bawled for two hours straight because he couldn't poop. When he finally did, it was Play-doh again. The pediatrician seems to think, since there's no blood, that he just needs to get used to the formula he's on now. Well, I say fuck that. I'm switching back to the stuff he was on before. His pooping problem didn't start until I switched him over to the stuff he's on now. Yet again I feel horrible since the only reason I switched was because the Alimentum stuff he was on before is so GD expensive. $27 for a 16 oz can. 16 oz barely lasts a week. I had gotten a bunch of sample cans from a girl at work, so when I switched from soy to the Alimentum stuff, I had no idea it cost so much. Now I feel like a total cheap asshole because I decided to get him on the less expensive "regular" formula right away. Big mistake. It's obviously too hard for him to pass.

So, despite what the pediatrician said, I'm not going to wait for him to "get used to it." He can't poop, and not being able to poop sucks. Especially for an infant who has no idea what's going on. For those of you with children, you know how excruciating it is as a parent to see your baby in pain. For those of you who don't have kids, it's like watching a beloved pet run out into the middle of a busy street. For those of you who don't have kids or pets, here are just a few words to describe it: powerless, confused, helpless, frustrated, tired, irritated, angry, depressed, overwhelmed... and the list goes on.

Anyway. Mr. D ran out to get some of the Alimentum formula. We're going to try a bit of prune juice, too. I'd rather have poop coming out of this kid's ass like a hydrant than to have him freak out for two hours every time he tries to take care of business.

Yeah, right. Ask me how I feel about that statement when I actually do get sprayed with poop.

What I like to call "Pulling a Clint Eastwood."

The good: The Zantac has helped with the heartburn.

The bad: Although The Kraken is no longer screaming from acid reflux pain, he's still making life quite challenging to keep it together.

The ugly: I'm not sure if this is how it's supposed to be, but little d still cries all the time. We had two or three good days (but that what when I was overdosing him, so ah, we're not going there again no matter how quiet he was), but things are starting to go back to the way they were, only now instead of screaming, he's whining. So much I've even come up with a brand new nickname: Your Royal Fussiness.

I don't think he's crying from reflux pain or the usual baby ailments like hunger, gas and whatnot, which fine, I'll give him those, but I feel like he's crying just because. Seriously. If the bottle isn't angled just right, he throws a fit. If he's not in his favorite position to burp, he head butts me. When he sits in my lap he cries. When I rock him he cries. He even wakes up crying. The only time I get a smile (a true gem when he gives it up) is when I'm changing him (which he use to hate, btw). It's like he's saying, "Ha, ha! I'm giving you shit and you have to take it... and I mean that literally, lady." On a good day, he's "quiet alert", as the baby books say, for about three seconds and then it's whine city. I can barely get tummy time in before he gets irritated. Swinging in his fab new swinger pappa and mema got him? Forget it. Dude's not having it.

*sigh*

I think I may have to just come to terms with the fact that I gave birth to the smallest grumpy old man ever. Or the tiniest version of myself ever.

My first "OMG, call Poison Control because I'm an asshole" moment (so far).

The week and a half have been a major roller coaster to say the least. Turns out Mason has acid reflux. So, to calm him down enough to eat, sleep and basically be alive without excruciating pain, the pediatrician gave us a prescription for Zantac.

The Zantac works great, and I suppose it was working even better than usual since I WAS GIVING HIM WAY TOO MUCH. Like, twice what he was supposed to be getting. I happened to call the pediatrician's office because, once again, he's having trouble pooping. He's got what I call play-doh poop. Not super hard, but not soft enough to get out without breaking a sweat. Anyway, it was on this phone call I discovered the depths of my idiocy. I completely misunderstood the dosage of my son's medicine.

Don't ask me how I mistook three times daily to be three times during an eight hour period. Oh, let's see... maybe because that's what the pharmacist told me. The instructions on the bottle were confusing, so I called. The pharmacist clearly said, "You can give the medication three times within an eight hour period." Three times WITHIN an eight hour period. Ah, what he meant to say was three times EVERY eight hours. See the difference?

Yeah. So here I am giving my kid more than twice what he's supposed to be getting and not realizing it. Talk about feeling like a total dumbass when the pediatrician suggested I call Poison Control. Which I did. And he's fine. But still. I feel horrible, not to mention retarded. No matter how many times I've asked my husband for the receipt so I can return him, I was only joking. I certainly don't want to return him (discover the magical combination of shhhhing and rocking that puts him to sleep instantly, yes, but return him, no) or harm him.

I see so much of myself in him, how could I? My parents didn't return me. Besides, no one would ever be able to understand that kid better than me (the only thing I don't understand, my son, is why you don't like to sleep). Well, except maybe his father--those two are more sensitive than an overweight lady in a dressing room.

All right. I'm out. I've got to go hop in the shower before this little S.O.B wakes up. Ha, ha. I can say that because, technically, it's true!

Go figure.

The Kraken has been sleeping for over an hour... right about the time my mother left.

STRANGE HOW YOU CAN SLEEP WHEN THERE'S NO ONE PRYAING YOUR FACE, HUH?

P.S. She wanted to spend the night. I said no. I didn't want The Kraken to grow up with his mother serving life for murder.

I'm buying stock in Motrin.

Combined with lack of sleep and the constant crying, the ever-running hairdryer cd at full blast has joined forces to give me the biggest headache EVER.

I took The Kraken on a one and a half hour walk today only to have my neighbors wake him up when I was just inches from my front door. They saw me going inside and ran over to see the baby. They must not have noticed that my baby was SLEEPING because they were loud as hell. "Oh, isn't he precious?!" Yeah, he is, now shut the fuck up "He's so good! Look at him sleeping!" Yes. He's sleeping. And it took me over an hour to get him that way so back off, lady.

So what do you think happened next? Of course. The Kraken woke up. I basically waved off the cackling hens mid-sentence and proceeded to keep walking. And walking. And walking. The Kraken's response was: Thanks for playing, but YOU LOOSE.

I did finally get him to sleep. His sleeping is fitful at best these days, but I take what I can get. I'd love to stay and chit chat but I have to go shove some food down my throat before he wakes up again.

too tired to use capital letters (and possibly punctuation)

i spoke way to soon. little d has been horrible for the last two days. oh, except when my sister came over and watched him for three hours. yeah, he was an angel. an angel who SLEPT THE WHOLE TIME. wth? i feel like this kid suddenly figured out i'm going to ruin his life, so he's just beating me to the punch.

believe it or not, i'm not a heavy drinker. that might change. it seems anything i do, it's not what little d has in mind. if i think he's hungry, he just wants to sleep. when i think he's tired, he's determined to stay up. if i burp him because i'm pretty sure he's just got gas, he decimates his diaper. then, every i think i'm positive he's pooped, nothing. so basically i've disturbed his peace (what little of it there is these days) for nothing. and i have to start the calming process all over again. which, by the way, takes for. ever.

it all started when i read the baby whisperer by tracy hogg and tried to implement her e.a.s.y. routine. eat. activity. sleep. you. it seemed easy enough, which is why i tried it. i wanted to start getting the kraken on a schedule and the e.a.s.y. method seemed, well, easy. the book lists signs to look for so you know when to begin the next letter of the acronym. it also gives a description of five types of babies: angel, textbook, touchy, spirited and grumpy. you answer twenty questions to find out what category your baby falls. of course, the kraken turned out to be the most challenging of them all... the spirited baby.

in the book there are not only signs to look for to guide you through the process, which is supposed to happen within a three hour chunk of time. not only are there signs, though, there are stages, and then levels to those stages. so many things to watch and look for and such a short window of time in which to move on to the next stage in the process, ironically, totally messed up the rhythm the kraken and i had going. the book kind of just assumes the e.a.s.y. method is going to work. in theory, yeah, it should work because it's so logical, right? yeah, no. all it did was give me performance anxiety. i was so busy worrying if i was going to miss a sign, or that i wasn't going to get him to go to sleep by the third yawn, that i got too worked up. which, of course got my SPIRITED baby worked up. so worked up that the effects have lasted for days.

*sigh* mr. d is currently driving the kraken around hell's half acre in the hope that he will fall asleep so we can get some rest. there was some good information in the baby whisperer book, for sure, but the e.a.s.y. bullshit? no so much.

Allow me to get all "I love fall" on your ass for a minute here.

My favorite times of the year are spring and fall. I love the way the April showers make the leaf buds look neon green against the dark brown bark of the tree trunks. And those overcast, drizzly days... I could listen to the raindrops hit the leaves for hours.

As much as I like spring, though, I like fall a little bit better. Something in the air, I guess. The way the leaves crinkle under your feet. How they smell. Cider and donuts. Halloween. I have very fond memories of trick-or-treating in my Grandparents' neighborhood in my Wonder Woman plastic mask, which is total safety hazard now no doubt.

If I were a month, I'd be October. Not only is my favorite holiday in October, some of my most favorite people's birthdays are in October. Wedding anniversaries, including Mr. D's and mine, of more favorite people are in October, too.

This time of year always energizes me, which is ironic because, technically, everything is, I don't want to say dying, but shutting down for winter. Even though things are winding down, the crisp autumn air puts a spring in my step.

This October has been no exception. I took The Kraken for a walk this morning and it hit me. It's my favorite time of year! I've been thinking about how lucky I am ever since. Not showering for three days and morning breath never stops Mr. D from wanting a kiss. And after a few stressful weeks of fussing, The Kraken seems ready for a more regular routine.

So yeah, this October is shaping up to be the best yet. Not only because I'm starting to feel a little bit more like myself every day. But because I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful baby boy to share it with.

One month already?

We had our one month check up yesterday--9 lbs 4 oz! He also grew another inch and three eighths longer. Everything went fine... until my man pooped right before the doctor went to examine him. I was slightly embarrassed. But only for a second, because, really, when you've got to go, you've got to go.

Where does the time go?

It's pretty late. Or should I say early? It's one thirty in the morning. I'm waiting for The Kraken's next feeding. He went down around midnight. I figured I could do some stuff that I couldn't get done during the day. Both Mr. D and I were all out of clean underwear, so yeah, I'm currently doing laundry. I hadn't balanced my checkbook in, oh let's see, about a month, so I did that. Finally tackled the mound of dishes in the sink. Hosed down the bathroom. Cleared a path through the spare bedroom we're currently occupying until the baby is big old enough (and his mother is brave enough) to sleep in his crib. He currently sleeps in one of those safe and secure sleepers between my husband and I. So far that's worked out really well. Although, I still check to make sure he's breathing 1736481628 times a night.

I can't believe it's going on five weeks. Then again, it feels like five years. I can barely remember life without The Kraken. It's weird. I know there was a time when I watched E! whenever I wanted for hours on end WITHOUT INTERRUPTION. Those carefree days when I could go to Target--or the Clinique counter--whenever my heart desired and frivolously spend money on myself. A time when I looked in the mirror and didn't see 20 extra pounds on my ass and a whole closet full of clothes that I don't know if I'll ever be able to fit into again. I almost get teary just thinking about it.

Almost. Because what would I do without The Kraken's hunger cry? That rhythmic wail that resounds across thousands of miles, far and wide. I'd be lost! His belches that bubble forth from deep within. I'd be nothing!

Ah yes, my selfish indulgences all but forgotten when I smell the sweet aroma of my Kraken's dirty diaper.