Life

When Amy was a baby she screamed.

and screamed

and screamed

andscreamedandscreamedandscreamed.

She wanted to be UP! And DOING! and being HELD! while SCREAMING!

It was hard. It was so very very hard to get through her first 6 months. Because yes, she screamed to be UP and DOING until she was able to crawl and make mischief on her own.

It was colic, it was a tummy ache, it was general grumpiness, it was a high maintenance baby, needing to be held.

Until she started solids though, I didn’t notice that she was allergic to milk protein. Actually, I didn’t notice for a while after she started solids. For a new mother who had been told ‘introduce foods one at a time and wait for any reactions’ I was remarkably blind to the fact that SHE WAS ALLERGIC TO MILK. Her allergy wasn’t severe, just diarrhoea and eczema. She was breastfed though, so I didn’t expect her poo to be any different and eczema? Well that runs in the family. Hereditary. Nothing to worry about.

However, one day it clicked. ‘Wait! Her diarrhoea went away when I forgot to buy yogurt! Geez, has she had any dairy this week? Hmmm, didn’t a friend have a boy with a milk allergy? Well shit, maybe I am just the worst mother in the world.’

Once we cut out dairy, she was pretty okay. Her skin cleared up mostly and her diarrhoea went away. Because she was breastfed, it wasn’t hard to keep dairy out of her diet. She didn’t react badly when I had dairy, so I never bothered going dairy free myself. After her second birthday, we started letting her have a little bit of

milk with cereal, etc etc. We lightened up on the whole dairy-free thing and generally stopped thinking about it.

Enter Isaac.

Isaac doesn’t scream. He also doesn’t sleep, but he doesn’t scream.

However.

At nine weeks old, he is still pooey at every nappy change and I am needing to change his bum once an hour. Dude? That’s not completely normal.

Then, his bum breaks out in a rash. Sure we’ve got/had the whole thrush thing happening, but I’ve got that mostly under control, so blisters? bleeding? Not in my current repertoire.

Also, his gas smells BAD. His poo smells like normal breastfed poo, but this boy could out fart my brother. True.

So, I drew some conclusions (and some cats and dogs and a plane, because Amy had the paper) and decided that maybe, just maybe, he might be allergic to milk protein too.

Cue me going dairy free.

And whinging about it every step of the way.

I like dairy. I like dairy A LOT. A  freaking lot, okay?

I supermarketed today and didn’t buy any yogurt. No cream. No bocconcini.

I figure Amy has been looking a little blotchy lately and Nathan tells me her nappies have been bad, a little dairy free won’t hurt her either.

Still.

I’m not looking forward to this.

[Isaac’s bum has cleared up now, thanks to a nearly nappy free day yesterday and a good dose of zinc cream. Thank goodness!]

Our sunset this evening.

9 weeks and 3 days.

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I might just be addicted to him.

Sleeping! Not a common occurance in these parts lately.

Don’t you wish you lived in Tasmania too? Looky what we found in the dining room! Aside from the shoddy building.

What I spend all day doing and seeing. Yes, that is baby vomit on my leg.

I popped Isaac into the washing basket while I folded the clothes. Amy promptly decided that she needed a washing basket too.

See more Weekly Winners here.

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Around 4am, Isaac starts to whimper and whinge. Nothing unusual there, it’s normally his second or third feed of the night, with bedtime being anywhere between 10pm and midnight. I roll over, bleary eyed and stick my little finger in his mouth, all the while cursing whatever makes him hate the dummy so bad, but also loving it a little too.

I wait until I can feel him sucking and praying to all that is good and holy, I lay there on my side, eyes closed and start to doze back off to sleep. Unfortunately, that isn’t what Isaac has in mind, because dammit woman, don’t you know that I am not getting any milk from this here finger?

I crack open my eyes again and sit up to grab the extra pillows kept at the end of the bed. This is typically where I disturb any mice partying on my bedroom floor and they scatter. I hope they run right into the traps I have laid, but I’m not hopeful. I unwrap the small grumbling one and rearrange us sitting up on the pillows. Someone doesn’t like feeding laying down, even though it would be so much more civilised for us both.

He looks at me as I struggle with my t-shirt. Finally pulling the hem out from under my bum, I manage to get it pulled up enough to free my nipple. It’s here that you can see his eyes light up as he realises that yes! there are BOOBS! all for him! He flails his little arms, control isn’t yet his strong point. Still half asleep, I can’t help but smile when our eyes meet and he smiles his biggest grin; right before going back to the frantic ducking while trying to magically will my nipple into his mouth. Rooting like a carnival clown, I finally manage to get him latched and he breathes a big deep sigh before going boneless in my arms. He grumbles a little as the milk is slow to let down, then settles into sleep, his eyes closing.

I snuggle down into my doona and rest my head on the mounds of pillows behind it. If I’m being forced to feed sitting up, the least I am going to do is use enough pillows to be completely comfortable. Light seeps in through the open bedroom door as I turn my head and rest.

Inevitably, I will wake up two hours later with a stiff neck, Isaac still snuggled into the crook of my arm and a nipple that looks like it was left in the bathtub for too long. Somewhere in there my other breast has leaked, leaving me to sleep in a puddle of my own milk. This is where my morning starts, as I try and put Isaac down beside me. Unfortunately, having savoured two hours of snuggling with Mummy, he doesn’t want to. And besides, it’s been a whole TWO HOURS since the start of his last feed, don’t I know that he needs the other breast RIGHT NOW?

I put him down anyway, fussing [lots] as I make my way outside to pee. It’s getting colder now and my breath makes little white puffs in the air. Dawn is breaking and I glance briefly at the sunrise. I *should* go and grab my camera and photograph it. Should is quickly changed to can’t, as Isaacs fussing is getting louder. I come back inside, have a drink, check Amy and the mouse traps [and if the fire is going, hold a mouse cremation for any caught mice]. I’m moving rather too fast for 6am and not enough sleep. I grab a nappy and wipes as I head in to deal with Isaac’s bum.

Ten minutes later, Isaac is back on my boob, the lesser of the soggy nipples clamped firmly in his mouth. Me? I’m willing him to fall back asleep [for the love of GOD] because dude, don’t you know your sister is going to be awake in a little while and I am not ready to be awake for real yet?

He gets laid down, milky sweet and dozy and I let him suck on my little finger. He might pass back out, or he will suck on my finger quietly for the next 30 minutes, allowing me to doze a little more. Or, he won’t. Either way, I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

Later, Amy will wake up and wander into our bedroom for a snuggle, all four of us. Happy. Contented. Even if I am slightly sleepless.

But hell, that’s what the internet is for, right? Hormonal, sleepless blog posts?

Right?

Right.

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Nathan had just gotten out of the shower.

Amy: ‘Daddy! Clean up da house Daddy!’

Nat: ‘You clean up the house Amy’

Amy: ‘Ow! I can’t. Amy’s back hurts.’

She then proceeded to place one hand on the small of her back and go ‘ooooooooh, backs hurt.’ while wandering around (bouncing off the walls).

Methinks she has been spending too much time with Uncle David.

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