I look back on yesterday's ebullient post with nostalgia. I miss yesterday's Jen. Because today's Jen, my friends, was not pretty.
For some reason, my kids go on poop strikes. Addie did it, and now Nolie does it. The last time Nolie pooped was over a week ago, and now she is paying the price, writhing and contorting, emitting giant bursts of gas like a pissed-off whale with an overactive blowhole. Then, just when you think the kid is going to explode, she poops. But you can't just call it a poop--that's too ordinary. It doesn't capture the scope and scale of the event. It's a poonami.
I tell people this, and they are horrified. "That's not right," they say. "Have you taken her to a doctor?"
Have I taken her to a doctor.
I live at the doctor's, my friends. I should pay rent there.
The doctors shrug and insist this is normal. Breastmilk is so efficient that there's just very little waste. They can't explain why the babies of my friends who breastfeed poop everyday and mine don't, though. I'm just lucky that way.
So, we're on day 8 of a Nolie poop strike. That, mixed in with her vicious runny nose, means that she wants to constantly nurse, and yet can't stay on the boob because she's writhing in pain. So she latches, then pulls off, screeching, taking my poor nipple with her.
Here's what last night looked like:
11pm: Finally get Nolie to sleep in sling. Got to see the conclusion of Flavor of Love, possibly the worst show on television. Slip baby as quietly as possible into vibrating chair, since she has to sleep sitting up. Wakes up immediately if put on her back. Climb into bed with husband and pass out instantly.
12am: Nolie wakes up, nurses, doesn't nurse, nurses, doesn't nurse.
1am: Nolie finally asleep again, sneak her back into vibrating chair. Collapse into guest bedroom bed. Pass out instantly.
1:30am: Nolie wakes up, nurses, doesn't nurse, nurses, doesn't nurse. Nipples are angry now. Fall asleep sitting up.
2am: Addie falls out of bed, screams. Eric rescues her, but I'm wide awake too, and wake up Nolie, who must nurse, can't nurse, nurses, can't nurse.
4am: Addie kicks the wall and screams. She doesn't wake up, but I do. Back aching now from sleeping sitting up. Can't nurse lying down because Nolie horks everywhere when I do. Nolie still on boob, working away at dislocating nipples.
6am: Nolie needs to nurse, not nurse again.
7am: Addie up for day. I'm up for day.
Needless to say, I am not in good shape. I feel like my head and my body are not actually attached, and every little thing makes me want to cry, which I can't do because my eyes are so dry from not sleeping.
Addie takes two hours to fall asleep for her nap, pooping twice before finally passing out on her little bed. I lay down with Nolie, trying to force a pacifier into her mouth in order to give my boobs a break. She gags on the pacifier and projectile vomits two gallons of milk all over the bed, necessitating that I wash the comforter, duvet, pillows, sheets, everything. This also means that I must start all over with feeding her. I give up on resting and count every last minute until Eric gets home to rescue me. Which he does.
Pray for poop. Not that I believe in the parenting gods anymore.