2009 November 10 | Heir to Blair

Harrison has reflux. If that was not BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE BUT HIS MOTHER.

On Friday, I sat in Dr. Hottie’s office on a cold vinyl bench, running through a list of reflux symptoms as he cauterized Harrison’s belly button (because oozing gold funk is not attractive). We chatted about spit-up, coughing, the hours-long screaming post-bottle, & how at almost a month old, he still didn’t like to take more than 2 oz per feeding. The final kicker:

Dr. Hottie: “Does he ever arch his back during or after a feeding?”
Blair: “oh, he just stretches a bit. You know, like ‘oh what a wonderful bottle!’ & stretches with his arms over his head.”
Dr. Hottie: ::blank, pointed stare::
Blair: “OH. MY. GAWD.”
Dr. Hottie: ::bursts out laughing::
Blair: “Listen, I will slip you $5 and a Pumpkin Spice Latte if you don’t mention this to Nate. Because I will NEVER live this down.”

Needless to say, he immediately sent in a prescription for baby Zantac. It was food time, so I fed Harrison in the exam room quickly, but since we were tying up a room, I quickly burped him & unceremoniously plopped him in the carseat. Crossed my fingers, said a prayer, & braced myself. Just as expected, the hell-cat screaming of reflux began at the check-out line. I crouch down, rock the carseat & offer Harrison his paci. Just 5 minutes, I promise him in my mind.

Cue the grandmother in front of me, helping her daughter check out with their one-week-old twins. “Do you think he’s hungry?” she asks. I smile & say, “No, he’s not hungry.” Trailer Trash Barbie, aka a mother wearing Daisy Duke cut-offs with a toddler on her hip stalks up, glares at me under bleach-frizzed bangs, & rolls her eyes at Harrison. I arch my eyebrow at her. She’s at the pediatricians. A baby is crying. That’s not exactly a recipe for calling Guiness, you know?

::tap on my shoulder:: “I’m sorry, but he’s crying like he’s hungry,” the grandmother persists. I smile tightly & say, “He’s not, I promise. I just fed him.” The over-involved stranger offering parenting guidance is not needed, mmkay? Harrison’s screams increase. Trailer Trash Barbie behind me heaves a massive sigh & mutters, “Can’t she get that kid to stop?” just as Grandma Nosy clucks her tongue & snips, “I’m pretty sure he’s hungry!” for a third time.

& I promptly lost my shit as the exhausted Momma Bear in me roared. Whipping around to Barbie, I snap “DEAL.” Then I turned on Grandma, biting out, “No, he’s not hungry. I know this because a) I am his mother and b) I just fed him. He’s screaming because he just ate & he has reflux, which means that right now, stomach acid is burning up his esophagus. Does that sound comfortable? No? Because I’m pretty sure you’d scream your head off if you had stomach acid eating your throat alive.”

BLESS HER HEART.

I should feel remorse. & in a way, I do for lighting into someone that is twice my age. But honestly? I’m glad I snapped. I am all for the “village” raising a child, but when I am obviously attempting to soothe my child while reassuring you that he is not hungry, it’s time to back off. Harrison was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting Harrison. BACK. OFF.

Thankfully, we’re done with Grandma & Barbie & Harrison’s Zantac seems to be working quickly. His burps are less wall-shattering & juicy, his screams are more managable, & the coughing & arching has practically stopped. We had a rough couple of days figuring out what worked best as Harrison attempted to cluster-feed 1 oz per hour to soothe himself. He was feeding to soothe the reflux. The constant small feeds created a child that was never truly full. & the needing to eat every hour created an overly-tired child that could not nap. After 24 hours of the cluster-feeding & me borderline on needing to be admitted to a room with padded walls, I put him in the Moby with a paci to hold him off.

& cried the entire time. I typically feed on demand. This went against every grain in my body, but instinct told me “BREAK THE CYCLE” of the cluster-feeding. & guess what? It worked. Two feedings later, he was back on his 3oz every 3-4 hours schedule. You know what else works? Keeping the kid upright while he sleeps, compliments of the bouncer:

Zantac isn't just for old folks. But Blair's biting hate can be.

p.s. I know, it looks like the SIDS risk from hell. But I promise, he’s buckled in & cannot slide under the blanket. & I do check on him. oh, & we put the bouncer in the crib to keep Tuck from licking him to death while he naps. Slobbery dog kisses do not bode well for long naps.

oh, and add the Fisher Price Soothe & Glow Seahorse to my list of favorite things.

Moral of the story? Go with your instinct. On a diagnosis from the pediatrician, breaking cluster feedings, & doing something as ridiculous as putting a bouncer in the crib.

As eloquently put in the 40 Year Old Virgin: “Show me your instincts!”