Friday, January 15, 2010

Since I can't do much

I may as well blog.

Miss Mini-Human, Clone2, Piglet, Must-Be-Upright-and-Moving, MUST-yell-for-food, or perhaps also known simply as "the baby", is out of sorts. She's got gum pain from those phantom teeth that aren't making an appearance yet, but we all know they're hiding in the wings, waiting for the most ~opportune~ time to erupt. She's got gas because I can't seem to figure out what I'm eating that disagrees with her gastric functions. I try to knit even a row on this wrap I've been working on since June 2008, and she wakes up screaming. If I try to pump, she'll get mad and accuse the machine of stealing her food. I feed her and she still yells even more at me and at the food sources. I got a Bumbo seat for her because she insists on sitting up, and I can't always hold her, and her siblings have other things to do sometimes. She hates it. She turns in it with one leg sticking out further than the other, leans over the side bites the side and yells. She stiffens her legs and back and tries to pop out of it. She loves the Maya wrap most of the time, but my back injuries don't like that too much.

I'm trying to clean stuff. My house is a disaster. It looks like it puked all over itself, and it kind of actually did that. I won't list the messes, but it's like ADD gone awry to say the least. Between the actual ADD in my brain and the baby, it's a bumpy ride on a personal watercraft in pre-hurricane conditions. I managed to get one big box of clothes sorted. Somehow while still baking the mini-human, a bunch of different sized clothes got lumped together in one box. I found 3s, 4s, 5s, a couple 2s and even a 12-18 months item in there. I re-sorted the box and started to put them away when the cute bundle of screaming tantrum sounded the alarm - again.

So, I sat down to feed her and she refused to be put down, acted sleepy but fought it...and here I am. I grabbed the My Brest Friend cushion and hooked her up so I could type with 2 hands, because I'd be here 5 hours trying to type this post one handed. She yelled at me some more. I gave her teething tablets, Tylenol and snuggles. I looked at her a few minutes ago and said "You're not going to let me do anything are you?" and I was met with a playful-eyed grin from behind a pacifier. That means no. She's cute. She's funny. She's sweet. And my 16 year old said she's evil. Pot meet kettle? Now that she's asleep again, I'm going to try to lay her down and finish these tasks I started several hours ago around my house. At least I was able to make dinner.
(And don't mind the timestamp on the picture. That's entirely incorrect and I am not sure how that happened.)


tinkguy said...

Awesome. I grinned all the way through your post. I got nostalgic for my boy's newborn days, watching weird late-late shows on MTV during feeding. I remembering being glazed-over tired, and patting myself on the back if I managed to wear matching shoes that day. Heck, if I remembered shoes at all.

Colleen formerly of South Africa said...

Loved the post. It was fun the whole way through.

Suburban Correspondent said...

I'm late on this one, but if you can't figure out a particular food or two that might be bothering the baby (through the breast milk), try taking digestive enzymes for yourself. One theory is that sometimes we aren't breaking down our food well enough, which allows whole proteins to escape into the breast milk and cause fussiness.

That looks stupid; but, hey, it's worth a try. My fourth was incredibly fussy - I had to carry him around, outside, to calm him down, all the time - and it wasn't temperament. Once I weaned him, he turned into the sweetest 2-year-old you can ever imagine. Even at 10, he's the smiling-est thing ever. Which means something was really bothering him those first 18 months or so...