Ugh. My dear, sweet child has been overtaken by the wretched reflux. In the past two weeks, I would say the level of screaming and vomiting in our house has increased three fold. I had the pleasure, this morning, of being the recipient of one of Knox’s vomit geysers… in. my. face. That’s right, nothing like a face full of regurgitated breast milk to get you really nice and awake. I had just fed and burped him, changed his diaper and swaddled him up nicely when I heard the tell-tale sound of spitting up. I picked him up so I could get him cleaned off when HUAHHCCCGGAH (<-- vomit sound), and the full force of it hit me in the nose and mouth. Delicious. I got to change Knox, his sheets and my own clothes at that point (and then I brushed my teeth). Then, this morning, we had about three or four puke incidents which earned baby boy a new outfit and mom several wipe downs.
I called the doctor’s office this morning about changing him from Zantac, which is obviously no longer effective.
Oh, and he screamed. And screamed. And screamed. All. Morning. Long. Can someone figure out how to tell a baby to chill out for five minutes while Mommy gets dressed? Because I really can’t put on pants with one hand. I’ve tried. I tend to fall over.
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