Days have settled into more or less of a routine. Baby eats, then baby screams, then baby spits up and (finally!) poops and then mama reads the contents like tea leaves, googling what "green, mucus-y" diapers means to the internet.
While I haven't completely ruled out food sensitivities, it sounds like the likely culprit is my milk oversupply, a benign sounding "problem" until you see - and hear - the affect undigested lactose has on a wee one. It's like living in a tiny town that has only one restaurant with one dish that gives you food poisoning everytime you eat there, but then, what else are you to do? Not eat?
It's not all gloom and doom around here. The fussing *usually* is relegated to the daylight hours, letting us get enough sleep to handle the fussing in the daytime. It' s just becoming demoralizing, this sitting down to write and then baby firing back up again just when you have managed to cobble together a sentence. I suppose I am going to have to become super adept at working in minute-long increments. That's how are brains are trained, post-Twitter and Facebook, right? And how Brad Pitt must get anything done in between shlepping 6 kids and -
I'll be back...