I would laugh about it if it wasn’t so unfunny and also totally cliched, but right after I wrote that big florid sonnet about how Baby Girl was the best! baby! ever! things went all to hell. I mean, holy cow, you think you’re doing a lot of laundry and then when a five week old starts projectile vomiting all over everything in sight six times a day, you look back at that one load of laundry per day you were doing and you just shake your head at the innocence. Or you would if you weren’t so busy doing laundry and trying to find a clean t shirt that doesn’t offensively reference Michigan, cheese, Nebraska, and crops.
Anyway, I called the pediatrician on call because the first of MANY Vesuvious Barfs happened at night, and we lost the on-call pediatrician lottery and I got the one I hate. This is the same turd face who looked at me after I dragged my three days postpartum ass into the hospital so we could get a baby weight check and said “Sooooo. Tell me about the baby.” I should have said “This is Katherine. She likes horses and long walks on the beach.” but I just said “Uh, we had to come in to get her weighed?” and then mentally added “You ass.” in my head. Where you mentally do things.
Anyway. On call pediatrician – total ass. He VERY CONDESCENDINGLY tells me it’s reflux and to keep an eye on her and that it’s no big deal unless she does it every time she eats, blah blah blah, fine. Meanwhile, she feels hot to the touch, although our shitty ass thermometer says that she doesn’t have anything the doctor considers a fever, and she’s screaming bloody murder every time she eats and she’s gone from sleeping nice long stretches of the day and sleeping next to us at night to refusing to sleep anywhere but in our arms upright on the couch and there aren’t too many nights of trading off couch duty before my husband begins emailing me weird fantasies about our old dumpy dirty ugly really really really comfortable couch that I got rid of four years ago and I swear to god, I don’t want to hear about that couch anymore, ever, so I did what any reasonable person with a wifi connection would do and I emailed Arwen because I know she had some “spirited” babies and I could remember that back in the day she had given up dairy to try to stop the screaming and so I figured at the very least she could recommend some cookie recipes made with margarine.
Because I was totally convinced that Lady Lightning had gone from Awesome Baby of the World to Screamy McAngryPants because she had a cold, Arwen had to sort of hold my hand and gently inform me that my child MIGHT PROBABLY have reflux (hi, I am a moron and also very tired) and that I MIGHT PROBABLY want to try propping her up while she ate and get some baby probiotics but also to not feel bad if I wanted to just sack all that business and get some Zantac, and seriously, she wrote me the LONGEST email ever full of just…tons of information but mostly reassurance and that is when I started in on a regular schedule of casting my eyes upwards and saying “Thank god for Arwen” about ninety times a day.
Mr. E really thought I should give up dairy. I believe he thought this as he presided over a giant bowl of ice cream, and then we had a “discussion” where I mentioned nine months of morning sickness and the therapeutic effects of ice cream sandwiches and how I had been trying to nurse a six week old who was doing that “you are stabbing my leg” scream for three hours and then he made K Dub a doctors appointment, where they took one look at her and diagnosed her with a whopping case of reflux and prescribed her some Zantac and recommended the probiotic drops that I already had on order because Arwen told me to get them, and in the end I can only conclude that sleeping on the couch is for sucks, and Arwen is pretty much ready to become a pediatrician and also thank god for the internet, really truly, because otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this with one hand while I hold an ice cream sandwich in the other hand and I think we all know that’d be the real tragedy here.
Also, it appears that Bacon Face is already feeling somewhat better. I certainly hope so, because right before all this shit went down she started smiling and dudes, I really miss that dimple that pops up in the corner of her chubby little cheek when she busts out a big old gummy grin. I really really do.