So the formula v. breast milk debate continues in our household...
We are on Day 4 of the GERD challenge. We started Scotty on formula (the RS Sensitive one, can't remember the full name) on Saturday afternoon. Like the chow puppy he is, he gulped it down happily. And then Brian and I waited for the wailing...and then...nothing. We had a drowsy, happy baby on our hands. Silence is truly golden.
And this has continued to present day. We've had a few bumps in the road - one 2am cryfest that was more attributed to me than the little pork chop (inadequate swaddle + overtired little baby = 90 minutes of hysterics). But for the most part, Scotty is doing really well on the formula, making me think he does not have GERD.
Also, my diet is going well. I am eating like a grizzly bear - fruits, nuts and meat. I told my mom this and she suggested I dig in the backyard for some grub worms. If you see me leaning over a shallow stream, fishing salmon out wtih my insanely-long post-partum nails, please call the local mental hospital.
I added wheat back in, mainly b/c I was going crazy without bread. I mean, it's like I was attempting some version of the Atkins/South Beach/Perricone diet all at the same diet, WHILE lactating. I can only handle so much, people. And bread is delicious.
Scotty has had two bottles of breast milk (brewed yesterday around 3pm) and so far, so good. He is sleeping soundly right now and I hope our good fortune continues. Now I just need to figure out what is (are?) the true culprits - caffeine, alcohol, all of those veggies, citrus fruits, and dairy. My money is on dairy, to be honest - everything I've read (minus the blood in the stools) seems to point to a slight lactose-intolerance. Brian is slightly lactose-intolerant (amazing, considering the amount of cheese he eats) so I'm blaming him for this.
And in other (weird) news, Sunday afternoon was quite interesting. After my Target run, we were all sitting around watching football when there was a knock at the door. Everyone looked at each other (thinking the same thing: It was She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named), when I decided to be bold and answer it. Turns out, it was Ganster Boy from two houses down. (Remember, the drug dealers are next to us - aka Tent City - the gangsters are the house next to them, and the drug users are across the street). GangstaBoy was dressed head-to-toe in Green Bay Packer gear and looked rather eager to see me. Well, see Brian. Turns out, they had exchanged pleasantries while wearing their respective green and gold wear.
And now GangstaBoy wanted to talk to Brian. They chatted for a few moments at the door, and then next thing I know, Brian invited him inside and offered him a beer. Okay, this was getting interesting.
What lead him to our house? The new Direct TV satellite, festooned on our back wall. Thank you, my husband. Like a jackal smelling a fresh kill, GangstaBoy was lured to our home by the idea of Direct TV. He woefully told Brian how he had to watch the Packer game on his computer, and looked more than happy to plop down and watch more football on our 54' LED flat screen. Brian is like the Pied Piper of Direct TV.
He was a virtual fountain of information, however. He told us he hates the drug dealers and feels as though they are doing bad things (especially with the Tent City). He said that the middle boy (aged 16) isn't even at home - "He's in some camp, somewhere." I about choked. Say, my former job? Holy crap, that's lovely. He also told us that they will not be in the house for longer than 3-4 months (pleasepleaseplease) since the mom has another job. Maybe that's why they are saving all of the boxes on the side of their house?
GangstaBoy was also kind enough to tell us about his daughter, aged 2. He proudly told us he just celebrated his 21st birthday last week and is trying to get a job at the Bellagio. He also likes to counsel the drug dealers on their life choices, exclaiming, "I don't do none of that sh*t anymore...now, I just drink and smoke, that's all." Great...
After Scotty was done with his bottle, he started to fuss a little. GangstaBoy looks over at me and says, "I think he needs to be burped." I ignored him. He says again, thinking that I didn't hear him, "Um, Kim, you need to burp him." I almost lost it (I was carb-less at this point, too, making me especially cranky) and shouted something about how I am TEN YEARS OLDER than he is but managed a quiet, "We think he might have GERD so we are trying to prevent spit-up by giving him more time to digest his food before he burps, so thank you, but we're fine." Pushy little gangsta. He's going to offer me advice on raising my child? I thought I had seen it all...
He literally sat in our house for about an hour, with all the rest of us exchanging glances like, "Um...how are we going to get him out of here?" I also didn't buy the idea that he was just stopping over for a freindly visit - my paranoia is so strong that I assumed he was casing the joint to figure out what to steal when the whole gang breaks in.
I then had the inspired idea to change Scotty's diaper...even though it didn't need to be changed. Viola. In three minutes, we had a screaming baby on our hands, and one flustered GangstaBoy making a break for the door. He claimed he was taking a smoke break but never returned. Scotty: 1, GangstaBoy, 0.
I thought that was the end of our neighborly-ness until last night when Brian got home from work. I heard him pull in but then he didn't come inside. I finally walked outside with the baby to find him talking to both GangstaBoy AND DrugDealer. Turns out GangstaBoy told DrugDealer that Brian is a lawyer, and DrugDealer wanted to talk to Brian about a ticket he got regarding some stuff he shop-lifted. He needed legal counsel.
Fan-freakin-tastic.
We need to move. Now.
We are on Day 4 of the GERD challenge. We started Scotty on formula (the RS Sensitive one, can't remember the full name) on Saturday afternoon. Like the chow puppy he is, he gulped it down happily. And then Brian and I waited for the wailing...and then...nothing. We had a drowsy, happy baby on our hands. Silence is truly golden.
And this has continued to present day. We've had a few bumps in the road - one 2am cryfest that was more attributed to me than the little pork chop (inadequate swaddle + overtired little baby = 90 minutes of hysterics). But for the most part, Scotty is doing really well on the formula, making me think he does not have GERD.
Also, my diet is going well. I am eating like a grizzly bear - fruits, nuts and meat. I told my mom this and she suggested I dig in the backyard for some grub worms. If you see me leaning over a shallow stream, fishing salmon out wtih my insanely-long post-partum nails, please call the local mental hospital.
I added wheat back in, mainly b/c I was going crazy without bread. I mean, it's like I was attempting some version of the Atkins/South Beach/Perricone diet all at the same diet, WHILE lactating. I can only handle so much, people. And bread is delicious.
Scotty has had two bottles of breast milk (brewed yesterday around 3pm) and so far, so good. He is sleeping soundly right now and I hope our good fortune continues. Now I just need to figure out what is (are?) the true culprits - caffeine, alcohol, all of those veggies, citrus fruits, and dairy. My money is on dairy, to be honest - everything I've read (minus the blood in the stools) seems to point to a slight lactose-intolerance. Brian is slightly lactose-intolerant (amazing, considering the amount of cheese he eats) so I'm blaming him for this.
And in other (weird) news, Sunday afternoon was quite interesting. After my Target run, we were all sitting around watching football when there was a knock at the door. Everyone looked at each other (thinking the same thing: It was She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named), when I decided to be bold and answer it. Turns out, it was Ganster Boy from two houses down. (Remember, the drug dealers are next to us - aka Tent City - the gangsters are the house next to them, and the drug users are across the street). GangstaBoy was dressed head-to-toe in Green Bay Packer gear and looked rather eager to see me. Well, see Brian. Turns out, they had exchanged pleasantries while wearing their respective green and gold wear.
And now GangstaBoy wanted to talk to Brian. They chatted for a few moments at the door, and then next thing I know, Brian invited him inside and offered him a beer. Okay, this was getting interesting.
What lead him to our house? The new Direct TV satellite, festooned on our back wall. Thank you, my husband. Like a jackal smelling a fresh kill, GangstaBoy was lured to our home by the idea of Direct TV. He woefully told Brian how he had to watch the Packer game on his computer, and looked more than happy to plop down and watch more football on our 54' LED flat screen. Brian is like the Pied Piper of Direct TV.
He was a virtual fountain of information, however. He told us he hates the drug dealers and feels as though they are doing bad things (especially with the Tent City). He said that the middle boy (aged 16) isn't even at home - "He's in some camp, somewhere." I about choked. Say, my former job? Holy crap, that's lovely. He also told us that they will not be in the house for longer than 3-4 months (pleasepleaseplease) since the mom has another job. Maybe that's why they are saving all of the boxes on the side of their house?
GangstaBoy was also kind enough to tell us about his daughter, aged 2. He proudly told us he just celebrated his 21st birthday last week and is trying to get a job at the Bellagio. He also likes to counsel the drug dealers on their life choices, exclaiming, "I don't do none of that sh*t anymore...now, I just drink and smoke, that's all." Great...
After Scotty was done with his bottle, he started to fuss a little. GangstaBoy looks over at me and says, "I think he needs to be burped." I ignored him. He says again, thinking that I didn't hear him, "Um, Kim, you need to burp him." I almost lost it (I was carb-less at this point, too, making me especially cranky) and shouted something about how I am TEN YEARS OLDER than he is but managed a quiet, "We think he might have GERD so we are trying to prevent spit-up by giving him more time to digest his food before he burps, so thank you, but we're fine." Pushy little gangsta. He's going to offer me advice on raising my child? I thought I had seen it all...
He literally sat in our house for about an hour, with all the rest of us exchanging glances like, "Um...how are we going to get him out of here?" I also didn't buy the idea that he was just stopping over for a freindly visit - my paranoia is so strong that I assumed he was casing the joint to figure out what to steal when the whole gang breaks in.
I then had the inspired idea to change Scotty's diaper...even though it didn't need to be changed. Viola. In three minutes, we had a screaming baby on our hands, and one flustered GangstaBoy making a break for the door. He claimed he was taking a smoke break but never returned. Scotty: 1, GangstaBoy, 0.
I thought that was the end of our neighborly-ness until last night when Brian got home from work. I heard him pull in but then he didn't come inside. I finally walked outside with the baby to find him talking to both GangstaBoy AND DrugDealer. Turns out GangstaBoy told DrugDealer that Brian is a lawyer, and DrugDealer wanted to talk to Brian about a ticket he got regarding some stuff he shop-lifted. He needed legal counsel.
Fan-freakin-tastic.
We need to move. Now.
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