Over the last few days, the deputy has pulled away from milk and begun crying. Last night, he wouldn't stop, and he screamed for a half hour before withering into sleep. It was murder. We set him in his crib and let him peter out. We didn't know what else to do. He was clean, warm but not feverish, freshly fed, and caught up on sleep. Nothing was obviously wrong.
We repaired to our gabillion baby books and read that colic is a sign of gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), a diagnosis he received before getting Prevacid. The books suggested we give him smaller amounts of milk to avoid the accumulation of painful gas, and it's possible Prevacid has become too strong a drug for him. If this is colic (and it sure looks like it), it should pass soon. The books says colic stops around 10 weeks. (But he's already 12 weeks now. Hush, you.)
We have options, at least. We're comforted that we can try different things before we break down and take him to the doctor and admit failure. We can experiment and tackle this as a problem to be solved, instead of a malady to be weathered.
I worry now about temporarily handing him off to My Mom before trying to sleep with him in a hotel room Saturday night. He woke up this morning as if all was normal, even smiling at us. I hoped he would. I feared he'd begrudge our incompetence. I'm thinking this at the same time I'm telling Your Anxious Sister that he wouldn't be able to do such a thing at this young age.
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Lots of folks are chiming in on Facebook about the reunion tomorrow. A good number say they can't make it to due finances or pregnancy. The latter eases Your Sister's worries that we're the last holdouts to parenthood. Apparently, very much not. But we may be the oldest to have their first child.Picture of the Day
I'm putting on my best outfit for the reunion.
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