Kid Amnesiac

Well, it would appear that Simon has some colic. After six pretty easy days on the new feeding schedule, he had a very fussy Tuesday. “No big deal,” I thought, “all babies have fussy days.”

And sure enough, Wednesday was great. But then Wednesday night Simon ate just before midnight and did not go down afterwards. He slept at most for 15-20 minutes at a time from midnight until 6 a.m. By which point he was so strung out from not sleeping that he ate and slept poorly (if at all) for the rest of the day until Matt and I took him for long car ride during the afternoon.

My mom came over to help us at around 3:45, and Simon finally conked out for some decent sleep in his swing at 4:00 p.m. I had thought he was too young to use the swing still, so a huge credit goes to Bubbie for rescuing on us on that front.

I called the pediatrician in sleep deprived hysterics yesterday, and she phoned in a prescription for Zantac to help Simon with his reflux. I don’t think this will be the silver bullet that solves all our problems–Simon’s crying even as I type–but I think it will certainly help. And there are other medicines to try if we don’t get significant relief from this one.

But the thing that will no doubt help us the most will be time. By 12 weeks, most of this should be over. Simon will be 7 weeks on Monday. Breathe. We’ll be taking this one day at a time, living in a pretty dirty house, and enlisting all the help we can until things calm down. And I’m going to try to remember the next time we have an awful day together that not all days are awful and that we’ll have a good one again soon enough.

Needless to say, I expect to blog much more on the good days than the bad.

Simon had a very busy day today that included two big firsts: He held his head up and he flashed his first truly social smile.

The social smile came around noon today when my mom came over to visit. She sat down at the kitchen island, put Simon in her lap, and said something about his needing his Bubbie. In response, Simon flashed a great big toothless smile. Adorable. Mom was thrilled of course. Then she went home to a messy, just burgled home and was not so thrilled. (Thankfully, the burglars took little of value and everyone is OK.)

This afternoon we piled Simon in the car and went to my Uncle Sam and Aunt Marcia’s house so Simon could meet their brood of children (6, counting spouses), grandchildren (11), and great grandchildren (1).

At one point during our visit, my cousin Connie was holding Simon when he pulled his head away from her hand and held it up unsupported for about 45 seconds. Then, after a short break, he did it again. By the third attempt his muscles were tired and his head flopped from side to side. Simon’s been trying to hold his head up–and getting close to succeeding–since about week three. Once he masters this skill I know he’ll enjoy seeing more of the world around him.

Finally, Matt and I went over to my brother Perry and sister-in-law Tia’s for dinner so Simon could soak up some quality time with his Bubbie, his aunts and uncles, and his cousins. He managed to repeat the head holding up trick there, and he also managed to stay relatively calm during this, his third visit of the day. Clearly he’s getting happier and less fussy.

So yay to my little family for today’s small but splendid adventures!

Since Simon has done less shrieking for the last two days (Hooray for Mylanta and the new feeding schedule), I’ve spent more time reading to him. Kids’ lit can infect you very, very quickly. Just yesterday I finished reading Bear Snores On and realized I was beginning to think in bad rhyming verse. I was telling Simon about Thanksgiving and why we were going to Grandpa and Grandma Chloe’s house when this horrific dittie slipped out:

If baby Simon cries much less
and things go his parents’ way,
We’ll have lots to be grateful for
This Thanksgiving day.

I’m thankful for ten fingers
And ten perfect little toes
I’m thankful for his eyes
and ears and chin and nose…

Then this morning when I was changing him, this one escaped:

You’re getting a fresh diaper
And a fresh change of clothes.
So why are you crying, Simon?
What are your woes?

Let’s get on with breakfast,
And then enjoy a snuggle.
Honey, stop your fussing
And give up this struggle!

Oh dear:

This rhyming is infectious;
It’s settled like a curse.
I’ve got to find a cure
Before things get much worse.

Maybe I’ll read a novel,
The Atlantic or even Time.
Anything at all will do,
So long as it doesn’t…
…rhyme.

Hm. This may be harder than I had thought.

Last Friday Simon and I had a fantastic day together. He fed well and slept well. He was happy. I read some books to him. We went out for a walk and enjoyed cool autumn weather. I sang silly songs to him and we danced around the house. He visited his Zadie and Nana. It was lovely. I felt positively beatific in my motherhood and could not wait to blog about my transcendent joy. Clearly, we were a superior sort of son/mother team, the type featured in the sweet children’s books I’ve been reading to him.

Then all hell broke loose. To put it succinctly, Simon started crying Saturday afternoon and has been terribly fussy ever since. After each meal he takes an hour or more to calm down — if he calms down at all. And that’s a big if. The crying is usually preceded or punctuated by spitting up. No small drool this spit up, either. Yesterday, after a single feeding, Simon managed to soak through one pre-fold diaper, a onesie, a footed sleeper, and three (3) bibs. It was beginning to look like the Exorcist over here on Cowling Avenue.

Meanwhile, the crying was ferocious and relentless. The poor guy was obviously in pain much of the time. Other times I thought he might just be worked up and hysterical. I’m learning fast that it’s hard to be a baby. Nothing is truly ready for the outside world yet. His digestive system is immature. His nervous system is immature. They really need a few more months before they can handle the world they are thrust into.

Unfortunately for all of us, I am not always calm and beatific when Simon is shrieking. For every moment that I think “Poor Simon” and worry about him, hold him, swaddle him, rock with him, clean him up, etc. there is another moment when I’m at my wit’s end and fighting the irrational urge to be angry at him for screaming at me for several hours. Doesn’t he understand how sleep deprived I am? Doesn’t he realize I need a break to eat something myself? Can’t he just let me read the paper and crank out my thank-you notes?

Stubborn though I am, I know when I am beaten. So Monday I consulted with the pediatrician and started Simon on Mylanta for the reflux. Yesterday I had a lactation consultant come over to the house to see what I could change and improve upon on that end, too.

I’ve now got a schedule for the Mylanta dosing, and I’ve got a new schedule and new techniques for feeding Simon. The goal is to feed him smaller amounts more frequently, as it appears that regular overeating is contributing to his misery. (Matt and I both overeat ourselves into tummy aches, too, but at 36 there’s much less crying about it….) If things aren’t better by next week, I’ll reconsult my pediatrician and we’ll discuss other medical approaches to the reflux.

In the meantime, tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Last year at this time, I was just beginning to think about starting a family. Now, a year later, I am certainly thankful to have a healthy, 9 1/2 pound infant and access to all kinds of support. With a little luck, I’m hoping by tomorrow to also be thankful for a more comfortable, happy baby.

Today Simon is officially one month old. Wow. When did that happen?

We’ve all changed in this last month. Simon for one is bigger and stronger, and he’s awake and alert much more of the day. I can barely burp him sitting in my lap now because he fights me so hard, and when we gave him tummy time last night, he briefly held up his head at about a 45 degree angle. Tonight he even managed to use the boppy pillow to roll himself back onto his back.

Yesterday both grandmothers declared that Simon was getting too big for his Moses basket, so today he had his first naps in his crib. That turned out to be harder than expected–for me, not for Simon. It’s been so sweet having him in that basket with me wherever I am that I hate to see those days end.

Just a few short weeks ago we brought Simon home, having declared ahead of time that he would spend the night in his own room in his own crib. When it came time to go to bed, Matt and I looked at each other and played a verbal game of chicken to see who would ‘fess up first that we didn’t have the heart–or stomach–to put him in a separate room. I can’t remember who caved first, but the other speedily agreed and Simon spent his first two nights in a Moses basket between us, with his head lined up between ours. Our bed isn’t that big, so we ended up clinging to the sides and barely staying under the covers.

I’m perfectly fine moving Simon to the foot of the bed, but evicting him from the room altogether is going to be tougher. Time to learn how to use the baby monitor! And maybe have a drink… Or maybe we’ll start this whole sleeping-in-the-crib-at-night thing over the weekend. That will buy me two more nights at least.

Simon’s not the only one changing around here, of course. Matt’s back is killing him, and his vanilla latte habit has been curbed considerably. My back is holding up fine, but my wardrobe has been reduced by 90% once I eliminate everything that’s too scratchy for baby, too dry-clean-only for baby, or too impractical for nursing. Of course, since I’ve basically been under house arrest for the past month, it hardly matters if I’m repeating outfits frequently.

According to the experts, next month should bring some coos, social smiles, a more coordinated baby, and longer stretches of sleep at night. So I’ll bid a bittersweet adieu to month one and look forward to the two-month adventures that lie ahead.

Our darling little Simon, bless his heart, is a bit of a stink-pot. He comes out of his bath smelling fresh and sweet like all other babies, but within hours the little guy is stinky all over again.

The problem is his spitting. Let’s do the math: Simon eats about 8 times a day. After each meal he spits up an average of 3-4 times. So, that means Simon is spitting up 24-32 times every day. And as his face fills out and his second chin evolves, there are more creases and crevasses for spit-up to get stuck in. Yuck! I’m getting better at anticipating and catching his spit, but the little guy still surprises or out-maneuvers me at least once per feeding.

There’s nothing to be done but bathe him often. We gave him a good scrubbing last night, and he stayed fresh and sweet for about 3 hours.

I’m going to make this brief because I’m terrified of jinxing myself and I want to run downstairs so I can more effectively eavesdrop on Matt’s band’s new singer; they are practicing as I type, and I have to be the Yoko. (“You’re the only one with any talent, Matt…”)

Last night I did a brief browse of The Happiest Baby on the Block, gleaned some key points, and recognized many strategies from family and friends. I believe it was Katherine who told me some young babies need to be carried a lot. Shawn and Yun shared the fresh air tip and the original advice about Mylicon. My brother Steve wraps babies as tightly as Egyptians wrapped mummies. My mother-in-law delights Simon with infant back rubs. And when Simon cries, my Mom is all over him in about 5 seconds, shushing him loudly and bouncing and swinging him in short, jerky movements.

Turns out you guys are all be on to something. Dr. Karp’s advice about calming babies includes much instruction about tight swaddling, loud shushing, regular carrying, specific vigorous bounces and swings and lots of sucking. I incorporated as much as I could glean from a quick skim last night, and Simon was indeed a very happy baby. He’s been a happy baby all day today as well.

So much so that today I wrapped him up, plonked him in his stroller, and went out for our first ever neighborhood walk. We might–ok, we will–have more grisly days and nights ahead of us, but for now I’m thinking it unlikely Simon’s fussiness was wholly or even mostly due to reflux.

If this trend continues I’m nominating Dr. Harvey Karp for sainthood. Hmm…a Goldstein nominating a Karp. OK, maybe I’ll just write a really flattering review on Amazon…

So, we haven’t posted for a few days because Simon has been fussy and we have been completely stressed and sleep deprived. And really, who wants to read “Simon cried for six hours yesterday, and Matt and I nearly lost our minds and seriously considered selling him on the black market”? (Note to social services employees: Joking about the selling business! Really!)

We have many theories about this crying business. Two weeks ago we assumed it was gas, bought Mylicon, and sighed in relief when dosing Simon stopped the shrieking. By week three the Mylicon seemed to have lost some effectiveness and Simon was spitting up and fussing quite a bit. We consulted our pediatrician, and he confirmed that Simon’s weight was good, told me Simon probably had mild reflux, and suggested that we should prop him up for about 20 minutes after each feeding. No problem.

So, how’s it going you might ask? A diversion on the way to the answer: There is a field called urban archaeology in which scientists study the daily habits of modern humans by carefully analyzing their garbage. You can do the same with Matt and me by looking at our shopping habits. In the last two weeks we have purchased a Maya wrap so I can carry Simon constantly (this inspired by descriptions of the !Kung bushmen of the Kalahari whose babies are always carried and never cry). We have purchased more Mylicon despite its waning effectiveness. I have purchased a book called The Nursing Mother’s Companion.

And tonight, while at Kroger, we purchased a bottle of gripe water, a copy of The Happiest Baby on the Block, and way too much junk food for our own good.

By now, you have no doubt surmised that Simon has been a major fusspot. He’s worst at night and after feedings. At 9 p.m. we feel really sorry for the poor little guy. At midnight, we consider bribing him to stop crying and feel frustration mounting. And at 3 a.m., frankly, my rational mind had shut down and I’d consider voodoo to make him sleep. [Note: He’s not crying continuously from 9 to 3–it can just seem that way.] There are two major possibilties for what is going on:

1. Reflux requiring medical treatment. I’ll be calling the pediatrician to describe his symptoms tomorrow.
2. The need for more effective calming measures. I’m reading The Happiest Baby starting tonight.

Stay tuned and I’ll tell you how it goes….