My day sucked. But you know what sucks more? A Dyson.

17 Dec posted by

Reasons My Day Sucked, by Blair.  As an alternative to a written composition by Ralphie Parker.

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:

nov 23 20081 My day sucked. But you know what sucks more? A Dyson.

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:

img 2789 My day sucked. But you know what sucks more? A Dyson.

Because their level of suckage deserves more respect.

HeirtoBlair500x150 v41 My day sucked. But you know what sucks more? A Dyson.

28 Comments
Filed Under: Dr. Hottie, Ralph isn't just a name, Reflux

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

10 Nov posted by

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!”
43 Comments
Filed Under: Dr. Hottie, Reflux
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