You read that correctly.

MY CHILD.  THREW UP. IN MY MOUTH.

It started off so sweetly innocent.  He sat on the bed, shaking a sock happily while I folded laundry & I got the urge to learn over to play with him.  So I did.  Because I don’t fight those urges – I soak them up when they come crashing in.  So we’re giggling, smothering eachother in slobber, I tickle him, &….

MY CHILD THREW UP IN MY MOUTH.

At first, I didn’t know what happened.  ”What the hell is THAT taste?” I asked & then OH EM GEE ::brain click::  The worst part?  Having to hold it in my mouth until I could get to the bathroom to spit it out.  Sour.  Acid.  In my mouth.  If you’ve never tasted regurgitated Nutramigen…well, you’re one lucky folk.  It tastes like hot, moldy, sour athletic socks worn by an entire football team for an entire season, then left out in the summer rains & 105-degree heat, then blended into a HOT MARGARITA OF SKANKY ASS.

I’m not exaggerating.

I ran to the bathroom, Harry on my hip, & spit into the sink.  & spit.  & spit.  & spit until I was pretty sure I was spitting out pieces of my own stomach, & then I took Nate’s powered toothbrush to my teeth, tongue, cheeks, & even that dangly thing in the back (enter gag reflex jokes here, here, & here.  Just don’t tell Nate).  & immediately felt zero sympathy for myself & all the sympathy in the world for Harrison, who lives with this on a daily basis.  No wonder he’s so pissy sometimes.

As someone so aptly deemed it on Twitter, I feel like I just got hazed into parenthood.  7 months later.

Y’all…I’m dying.  DYING of laughter.  If you have not gone through & read the vomit stories, PLEASE DO IT on this lovely Friday afternoon.  It is so worth it & will make you smile.  People with vomit in their mouths.  Someone compared the taste of Alimentum to “Tossing A Salad.”  & poor Amy got barfed all over on her wedding day.

They were all so fantastic that I used Random.org & #232, aka Katy & her daughter, Aidan, are the winners! Katie, please email me at blairbear111@gmail.com & we’ll get it sent out to you!  Congratulations!

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As a working mom, I’m about to let you in on one of my best-kept secrets.  This bad boy:

A Burp Blanket, compliments of Sullivan & Sawyer.  A few weeks ago, I was lamenting on how often I come to work with vomit on my shoulder.  & sometimes down my back because Harrison has this incredible talent of aiming right over the shoulder.  So regular burp cloths, even cloth diapers, simply don’t cut it.  Really, he’s better than most Olympians & I’m pretty sure he’d be on the gold medal stand in Baby Olympics.  Gross, right?  But that’s what happens when you a) have a child & b) have a child with reflux.  You get puked on.  & it’s pretty much LAW that the moment you put on something nice & are two steps from your front door, your child pulls a Reagan & you need a young priest & an old priest to get the peas off your t-shirt.

The owner of Sullivan & Sawyer had the same issue, saying, “I was just sick of getting barfed on & it all going on my shoulder & down my chest.”  & so the Burp blanket was born.  (side note: this is NOT a sling. please do not carry your child,small canine, or grocery produce in it)

& my dry cleaning bill thanks it.  Profusely.

She also makes paci ties that are DARLING & half the price of ones you find in store (meaning that Harrison’s paci stays on his person & not on the floor of Baby Gap, praise God) & my personal favorite, the bib clips:

Let’s say you’re out to dinner or it is laundry day & the only thing clean is a dish towel.  It’s chicken-rice from a jar time for the tot, so you snag the dish towel, clip each end, & BAM! you have a bib.

(enter in where I wish I was this talented & creative to think of such things!)

So here’s the awesome news for readers – Sullivan & Sawyer are sponsoring a give-away!  One lucky reader will win a Burp Wrap, Paci Tie, & Bib Clip!  All you need to do is comment here with your best baby vom story (whether it’s your kid,  something you saw in Target, or maybe your worst fear for being puked on), tell me which of the patterns below you love most,  and follow me on Twitter.

1)  Leave a comment for your story
3)  Leave a comment saying which pattern you adore.
2)  Leave a comment that says you follow me on Twitter (leave your Twitter address!)

Enter in once, enter in three times…it’s up to you, & each comment counts as one entry!

I’ll pick the winner on Friday.  Best of luck!

p.s.  Canadians, you are in luck!  You also qualify!  So to be a lawful citizen, please leave the answer to 2+2= __ at the end of your entries.  You know, but put the number that 2+ 2 equals.  Yes, I’m serious.

1. I was playing with my kid.
2. He was laughing up a storm & kicking his feet like mad.
3. In turn, I was laughing with him, making it impossible to hold the camera steady.
4. I was desperate to find an angle that showed off his amazing dimple, but obviously failed.

Y’all.  WHO’S CHILD IS THIS?!  36 hours into Nutrimegen, 2 doses of Prevacid under our belts, & viola – happy baby.  I only hope it stays this way & isn’t a Four Day Fake Out like life on soy + Prilosec.

Last night, Nate & I snagged a date night to see Sherlock (ah-mazingly fun) while my folks kept Harrison.  When we came home, he was already in bed & my parents were singing his praises – not the typical grandparent mush, but the “OH MY GOD, he’s a different baby already!”  He swang happily.  He sat on my mom’s lap during dinner & didn’t cry.  He smiled through his bath.  He even laid in his pack n’ play, playing with noming the face off his Sophie.

I didn’t believe them.  (kind of like how people don’t believe that he really cries more than 12 hours a day)   Until this morning, when our day has resembled the following:

• Wake up at 6:45am.  Change diaper, begin bottle.
• Swing happily for 30 minutes while Momma fixes breakfast & cleans up the kitchen.
• Coo & laugh under playgym for 30 minutes.
• Coo & nom on Sophie in crib for 15 minutes while Momma does a load of laundry & picks up nursery.
• Has medicine & snack bottle around 9am.  Promptly falls asleep.
• Nap in bouncer.

Do you notice something?  Lack of a specific word/action?  That-which-must-not-be-spoken-lest-Satan-hear-it?!  That begins with C???

LOOK AT THIS CHILD.  Waiting patiently for his rice cereal & bottle.  ::swoon::  Not only is he quiet, but he just looks pleasant.

(p.s. how presh is that bib?  one of my best girlfriends made it as harrison’s “welcome to the world” gift…when she gets her etsy site up & running, i’ll let y’all know)

Do you know what it’s like when your child wakes up screaming at 6:30am?  & by 11am, you’re shaking.  SHAKING.  Because as over-stimulated as your child feels, you’ve had high-pitched shrieking invading your every thought for almost five hours.  For the seventh day in a row.  At night, you close your eyes & you still hear crying.  You wake up three times every night, swearing you heard screaming & wondering if motherhood will give you post traumatic stress disorder.  & you sit down & cry, looking at your child & irrationally asking him why he hates you.  Wondering if he’d be better with another mother.  Wondering if what you wanted for so long was the biggest mistake you ever made.

Yeah.  That’s an emotional breaking point.

It was time to call the pediatrician again.  Actually, it was past time but I just kept thinking this will pass.  It’s just a growth spurt, colic, whatever.  He’s almost 12 weeks old.  12 weeks is supposed to be the magic age, right?  Maybe I’m simply over-reacting in my perception.  But it kept getting worse.  Nate wanted to attend the pediatrician with me but couldn’t yesterday – I was hoping to hold off until Tuesday to take Harrison in so both of us could be in attendance, but yesterday, I broke.  I called the pediatrician.

Then hung up.   Because I thought, “No, Nate needs to be there.  Hang in there one more day.”  A minute later, I picked up the phone & dialed again.  & hung up.

I did this four times.  Afraid to go in by myself.  Afraid to not go in.

I finally picked up the phone, forced myself to make the earliest appointment they had, & packed up to leave.  Harrison stayed in jammies.  I stayed in yoga pants & a sweatshirt (I did, however, remember to brush my teeth when I ran upstairs to get him a blanket).  At the pediatrician, a lady smiled at Harrison in his pajamas & said, “It’s so funny how you can tell the first-time mothers with their babies in sweet outfits; but us ‘old pros’ just throw the kid in the car with sleepers.  Is this your second?”  I laughed hysterically.  ”No, he’s my first.” I explained.  ”It’s just not worth the screaming to dress him.”  I looked down at her baby, the same age as Harrison, who was smiling happily.  Cooing, batting at car seat toys, giggling up at his mother.  The baby to my right was also grinning up at her mother.  & Ol’ Stormy sat in his car seat in (thankfully) quiet fury, glaring at anyone who peered into his car seat & threatening to open his lungs at any moment.  I wanted to cry for him.  I wanted to cry for me.  These women with their happy, content, interactive babies.  & me, with a child I cannot console.

I’ll spare you the boring details of the visit, which including lots of talking, a full check into Harrison, & watching videos of the screaming.  Basically, Harrison’s reflux is far worse than we even imagined at the 2-month visit.  We kept thinking this is something he’d “outgrow” as most babies do, not get worse.  But if anything, we’re learning that Harrison is far from the “typical” baby.  His reflux is now requiring Prevacid, plus a more expensive hypoallergenic soy since he is intolerant to both dairy & soy.  Due to the reflux constantly burning, we’re to now spoon-feed him rice cereal twice per day prior to a bottle.  (that is a mighty adventure with many pictures to come, mostly of Nate & I covered in goop)

The other side to this coin is that Harrison is simply a high-sensitivity baby.  & apparently, it’s not uncommon in blonde-haired, blue-eyed folks to have more allergies , intolerance, & higher sensitivity (to temperature, noise, smell, taste, moods, light, etc).

Makes you wonder what Hitler was thinking, no?

Part of that does include my anxiety, but Dr. Hottie was quick to ensure me that my anxiety is not the cause of Harrison’s “behavior.”  (neither is a lack of breastfeeding, douchebag.  he’d have the allergy & reflux regardless.  except i’d be sans-cheese in my diet & we’d still be shelling out $60/mo for meds)  It’s the opposite, but with his sensitivity to my mood, we’re creating a vicious cycle for one another.  In an odd way, I’m looking forward to returning to work & Harrison staying with The Momma (for a few weeks prior to daycare) to “break the cycle.”  It’s not hard to figure out why he’s constantly screaming – a fire burning up his throat with no relief, a tummy that doesn’t agree with anything, & the constant over-stimulation provided by simply existing.

We’re almost 24 hours into the Nutrimagen formula, with our first dose of Prevacid under our belts.  Obviously, things are not perfect – that is going to take time.  But he did calm down enough today to play with Sophie & his Momma for 10 minutes:

& for now, that gives me enough hope & confidence to keep truckin’ through this final week of maternity leave.

A zillion thoughts run through my head.  An ear infection?  Teething?  Reflux again??  Hungry?  Wet?  Constipated?  Gassy?  & I think at this point, I realize that I simply have a fussy, unhappy baby with one hell of a temper.   I just don’t know where to draw the line.  Do I give in to admitting it’s “colic?”  (Which is what Dr. Hottie implied if the soy & med switch failed.)  Is it possible to have a good week if it’s colic, or is this a sign that I should keep digging?  He’s not running a fever.  He pooped happily last night & he’s had a decent amount of milk today.  Do I call the pediatrician, or do I wait & see if this is a one-day fluke or if it lasts a few days?  It’s not about me.  I can handle the screaming.  I just don’t want my kid to be in pain or unhappy & if there’s a fix, I WANT IT FOR HIM.  But sometimes, I worry that I’m becoming numb to his crying.  He does it so often for no reason that sometimes, I have to remember that he is crying for a reason.  Sometimes he does need his diaper changed.  & even though he’s cried for the past 4 hours, it’s been 4 hours & now he’s crying because he’s hungry.

He finally passed out in my arms (it takes skill to type & cradle a babe).  & then I laughed at a comment left below regarding internal hemmies making you feel like you’re sitting on a place setting (SO TRUE) & it woke him up.  & not just a flicker of eyes — a full bottom-lip out, entire body scrunched up, & wailing.  I just wanted to stab myself for daring to laugh.

The only thing that makes him happy is lying on his changing pad & noming on his stuffed lambie.  It’s a good thing that a) I like his nursery and b) I have a good book to read.

But it was so nice to have a week with a happy baby.  I got to see how the other side lives.

1.  At 7:15am, Harrison threw up all over me mid-bottle.  I’m talking vomit over his head, onto my arm, down my leg, onto the couch.  & then he started crying.

2.  He screamed the entire morning.  Regardless of full belly, dry diaper, & jiggling Momma.

3.  After six years, my iPod stuttered it’s final breath.  RIP, original pink iPod mini. ::plays taps::

4.  Dr. Hottie thinks that Harrison’s reflux is more intense than we originally thought.  So Harrison is now on Prilosec, a stronger drug.  With potentially a switch to soy formula next week.

5.  Did I mention that insurance does not cover Prilosec?

6.  Harrison got three vaccines.  THEY STUCK NEEDLES INTO MY BABY TODAY.  He was fine after a quick sob into my shoulder & a shot of Tylenol at 4pm.  Momma, on the other hand, is still reeling from her stream of tears at seeing the dried blood on his band-aid this morning.

7.  I got called into work.  Yeah.

8.  Where passive-aggressive behavior ruled on post-it notes.

9.  We have a forecast for potential winter weather.  Which meant Super Target was an EFFING MADHOUSE for milk & bread.  (don’t ask, it’s a Southern thing)  & all I needed was some coffee for tomorrow morning.  Needless to say, we had frozen pizza for dinner.  & I had a rather large shot of lemon vodka in cranberry juice.  But a segway smooth like a punch to the stomach, we shall discuss something that sucks more.  In a good way.

No, not that.  You dirty, dirty people!  Get your minds from the gutters!  Perverts!!

The kind of glorious, amazing suck that only comes from a Dyson vacuum.  I know first-hand the awesome that is Dyson.  My mother has one, & sometimes when I’m at The Momma’s house, I volunteer to vacuum.  Yes, I do have OCD tendencies that may require my children to need therapy in the future, but it’s more than being a neat-freak.  THESE VACUUMS ARE INCREDIBLE.  Sweet, sweet hum while they work, sucking up every little speck of dust & dead carpet-choking dog hair.  Alas, I am stuck with this ol’ clunker:

Listen, Hoover.  We had a good run, including several laps over your cord, which led to Nate doing quick emergency surgery with electric tape to prevent me blowing our casa into the sky.  Or burning it down to the ground.  Needless to say, Hoover is on life support but with that little blonde kid in the next room, affording a Dyson is laughable for the next…I dunno, 10 years.  Enter in my creepy internet friend buddy Jill from BabyRabies.com.   & her amazing give-away where there is potential for a Dyson to be underneath my tree in a week.  PLEASE PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE, GOD.  PLEASE LET ME WIN.

I promise if I win, I won’t do this to the Dyson:

Because their level of suckage deserves more respect.

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.

& 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:

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!”