Houston, We Have a Screamer

Apparently I jinxed the heck out of myself by proclaiming I have an easy baby.

Yes, my sleepy little angel has been replaced with Fussy McScreamerson. It all started a few weeks ago. I mentioned her fussiness at her two week well child visit, thinking maybe I'd have to give up dairy or that the doc would recommend gas drops.

But he whips out a prescription for an antacid. Thinks she has reflux.

I was not convinced. Her symptoms simply don't show reflux. But I told him I'd try it. Two weeks in and nothing. In fact, I'd say it's (whatever 'it' is) worse.

Last Thursday I called and left a message for the nurse asking if I could stop with the reflux meds.

The great news is that the nurse that called me back is also a lactation consultant...I didn't know my pediatrician's office even had one. I spoke with her at length.

Here's the thing: I've always been an overproducer when it comes to breastfeeding. Sounds like a great thing, right? Yeah, not so much. The lactation consultant directed me to an article on the La Leche League website that addresses problems surrounding overproduction of breast milk. The basic take away is that baby gets too full on the lactose rich fore milk and never gets the fatty hind milk. This leads to gas, horrible poops and overall fussy baby.

And seriously? Reading the list of symptoms and effects on baby? It was like reading a word for word description of both of my kids.

So, since Thursday I've been following the article's advice on how to make sure baby gets the right balance of fore milk and hind milk while trying to curb my crazy Bessie boobs.

I've noticed a little improvement in baby. She still has a witching hour...okay, hours. So I'm not ruling out colic.

But I'm hoping once I get the milk factories to stop working overtime, we will see more improvement.

Cause I know I'm not cool with the colic. Eff the colic.

- Posted from my iPad! I know!



Hey there.

Um. Hmmm. What day is it? Where am I?

I need to face facts. Newborn bliss has faded. I am tired and my life revolves around boobs and poop.

Don't get me wrong. I adore my wee babe. But good god, I forgot how annoying massive boobs are...seriously. Ouch. And how little sleep I can have and still (kind of) function.

And last week, I hit a big wall and ended up calling my doctor, sobbing. I actually scared myself...anxiety like I'd never experienced, crushing anxiety. And I was so irritable and impatient. Forget about a short fuse...I had no fuse.

Suffice it to say, my doctor immediately wrote me a prescription for antidepressants and scheduled me to come into the office asap.

At first, I was absolutely gutted that I needed help. That I couldn't handle things on my own. I don't like to ask for help.

To be honest, I'm still struggling with it - I didn't have PPD with my first child. Why now? What's different?

Logically, I know that this is something I can't control. It's an imbalance. My hormones are all out of whack. And my doctor assures me it'll get better.

Emotionally? I'm kind of pissed. I'll get over it, and I know I made the right decision in seeking help.

For now, I just want to enjoy this precious short time that Baby C is sweet and tiny. I need to remember to soak it in...time is fleeting. I don't want to wake up from this haze and realize I've missed anything.

- Posted from my iPad! I know!