I am truly an asshole. No, seriously. I have publicly violated (on the Innernet, no less!) cardinal rule #1 about an easy baby.
I said I had an easy baby. Out loud.
Which means I was promptly bitch-slapped by the karma-gods have spent the last week with an infant who is ravenously hungry, but can’t sleep more than an hour after eating because something evil takes a hold of his innards and causes him to scream at the top of his lungs.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Every three hours. Oh My G-d.
And, to add insult to injury, he didn’t seem really interested in pooping. For 25.75 hours straight.
Proactively I called my brother, who I knew had the best pedi-meds for this kind of thing, and scored some Prevacid. Awesome! But then, Husband got all nervous and said we should call the doctor to make sure it was okay to give to him.
The pediatrician was gone until Monday and no one would authorize the meds “officially” without seeing Benjamite first. So I killed him. He’s dead now. And I’m LOVING what our litigious society has done to healthcare.
So here we are, with tablets of gold, not using them, and not sleeping. Husband and I were dangerously approaching That Moment About Which We Don’t Speak.
After two and a half days of not sleeping, we were (BY G-D!) going to see the doctor this morning and we did. And 3 seconds after getting the boy stripped down, the doctor removed his diaper, asked me to hold it near Benjamite’s tushie “like a hockey goal”, and promptly stuck his pinky finger up my son’s ass.
Well, the tushie’s fine and, of course, he said we could use the Prevacid (shit!), so now we’re hopefully on the path to gastrointestinal peace and sleep. Amen.
And I think that’s enough for a Monday. Don’t you?