The Refl(u)x

The only time I have thought that motherhood was a less than stellar idea was when I realized that from this point forward, my emotional well being and happiness is wrapped entirely in another person’s body. And I don’t mean her sleep habits or diaper changes or any of the inconvenient things that come with having a baby, I mean that since the day she was born, my heart is now dressed in a diaper and a onesie, and can be shattered with the slightest lip tremble and a cry. And God forbid she get sick or … well. With everything I’ve seen this week around the blog world, I’m barely holding it together, because there is horror out there, and it’s literally unthinkable.

On paper, this whole thing seems like a colossally stupid idea, right? I handed my entire ability to exist over to a person who can barely lift her own head and pees wherever she is, whether she’s wearing a diaper or not (I’m not going to lie, however, it’s FUNNY when she pees on her daddy). I swear, sometimes my heart breaks a little just looking at her.

Anyway, this last week, week and half, has been a blur of sleepless, teary proportions and finally, a diagnosis, though little relief.

My poor bug has acid reflux and how, I tell you. Remember when I thought she had a head cold and always seemed congested? Yeah. Not so much. I realized when it had been something in the range of three weeks, with the “cold” getting no worse and no better that maybe it wasn’t a head cold. Because EVERY TIME I’d put the kid on her back, she would wake up and scream. And scream. And snort and snorfle and struggle to breathe. Oh, and puke. Yes, there was much puking. Gagging, too.

Oh, and my God, there was no sleep for anyone, least of all her, which is really all I cared about, because nothing’s worse than a tired, sick baby. Remember when I said being tired was manageable? That’s true when you get at least an hour of sleep at a clip, but when that hour is reduced to twenty minutes, and those twenty minutes are spent making sure your kid is breathing, because sometimes she has trouble with that, well … sorry folks, I have to amend my previous statement. I am, at this point, more tired than my childless self and even my PREGNANT self, and that’s saying an assload, I tell you.

The only way, for now, that the bug will sleep is on my chest, or, on rare occasions, in her car seat, because her little throat get shoved up full of acid and then the GAGGING starts and … man. I’m in that phase right now where even though I know it’s going to get better, that some day she’ll be able to sleep comfortably and she WILL survive this and the Prevacid WILL work and she won’t be in pain forever and no, I won’t be wheeling her to her high school graduation comfortably cradled in her Quinny Zapp and screaming, “STAY UPRIGHT, KID. THE ACIIIIIIDDDDD WILL EAAAT YOOOOOOU!”

I mean, it will get better, right? Preferably before she turns one? Or twelve?

By the way, she’s on Prevacid every night. And I’m on the mother of all elimination diets — no dairy, eggs, caffeine or tomatoes. Who doesn’t love caffeine-free root beer for breakfast instead of coffee with milk?

If it doesn’t improve, we can increase the dose. I’m fine with this, so please, no dire warnings of death or harm at the hands of medication, please. You may think you’re “helpful,” when actually, you are CRUEL.

Moving on! As much as I’m loathe to say anything negative about my dog, lest the Pet Police come out (and oh, I’ve seen them COME OUT) and accuse me of neglecting my precious pet in favor of my brand! new! baby!, first, let me assure you that Sunny is as loved as ever and getting plenty of attention. However, since Sam’s been born, she’s been so jealous that she’s demanded THREE TIMES the attention she got before, and it’s a little hard to keep up with. But more than that, she’s … well. She’s very interested in breastfeeding, to the point where if I don’t keep her FAR FAR AWAY during feedings she will try to latch on herself. It’s AWFUL, and about as unsettling and foul as you’d expect. I mean, WHATTHEFUCK, my dog is trying to BREAST FEED.

There are good things, still, however, and I wouldn’t trade this for anything, obviously. There’s nothing better than feeling the weight of her little head under my chin, and feeling her tense little body relax when she’s passed back to me after being in someone else’s arms. When she’s with me and she sees Adam, she lights up like a Christmas tree and vice versa. She’s almost smiling — almost. And it’s like heaven when she bounces her little arms and legs in nothing but pure joy.

But man, am I excited for this phase to pass. MAN.

Happy … oh God, no idea what day it is again.

*Duran Duran, The Reflex, obviously. I sing it to her with “reflux” substituted in there.

55 comments April 13th, 2009