Soft Spot

Oh Newtlet, my fine neonate
Your motor control ain't so great
Quit lurchin' and joggin'
That delicate noggin
It took nine lousy months to create

This morning, 4 a.m.

There once was a baby named Grumpus
Whose bellows of rage used to stump us
Is the child possessed?
Existentially distressed?
No, he just has to take a big dumpus.

The Scrappiest Baby on the Block

So, seven days since the last post, and that can't be a good sign, right?

First off, thank you everyone for the support and good advice on the last post. I'm soaking up every story, factoid, and tip right now, so please feel free to keep the ideas coming. Anything that will make this baby sleep (short of a tranquilizer dart, I suppose) is all right with me.

Things are up and down, and that's actually an improvement. We had a very good weekend, and I thought "Zantac is the golden ticket! I have found the golden ticket!" Then we had a very bad Monday and Tuesday and I thought "I wonder if there are any gypsies here in the Midwest who might be interested in stealing this baby?"

And thank you in advance, internet, for graciously giving me a pass on irreverent anti-baby jokes. I sometimes forget that people in the real world aren't always ready for that kind of remark. I said something yesterday to a friend about throwing the baby out the window, and was surprised, foolishly, by the look of horror with which this harmless comment was greeted.

First of all, come on, I wouldn't really throw the baby out the window.

And second of all, I have a one-story house, so even if I did defenestrate the newtlet, he would almost certainly be fine. The ground has thawed out and everything.

So anyway, it doesn't seem that there is going to be a golden ticket, but for the most part, I think things are settling into a better rhythm. Wednesday and Thursday were pretty good. Friday is a work in progress. I am currently typing with both hands, so something must be going right, huh?

Here are things that have helped:

Zantac: The newtlet still urps and acks and pukes, but doesn't seem nearly as bothered by the acid. I think his lowered stress has helped things in the farting department, also. We have learned that the newtlet arches his back when it's acid, and draws up his knees when it's gas. Hey, we've cracked the code! Fat lot of good it does anybody!

Belly rubbing, leg pedaling: After every feeding, we prop the baby up on our knees and spend fifteen minutes providing manual aid to his digestive system. This routine has come to be known as "kick and fart" or "lap calisthenics" around here, and we're quite dedicated to it. I have read that you should rub the baby's tummy clockwise, so we do that religiously, although it seems a little odd that his intestines should have such a strong preference. If I rubbed counter-clockwise, would we be forcing the gas back in?

Playtime: We can't force him to sleep, so Mr. Newt and I are trying to embrace the periods of time when he's awake. Here in week seven, the phase of playtime after he eats is getting both longer and more fun, with eye contact, funny little baby noises, big gummy smiles, and the baby punching me in the face. He doesn't mean to punch me in the face exactly--I think he's trying to reach out and grab me. But since his little fists are closed more often than not, this affectionate gesture gets turned into some very pathetic baby fisticuffs. Kid's no Billy Blanks, I'll tell you that.



('Roid Rage)

The great outdoors: I take the boy for a walk in the baby bjorn every afternoon, not only for my sanity, but also to set the baby's day/night clock. Most of the time, the baby sleeps through this ritual, and we have a lovely walk. But every once in a while, the newtlet will melt down into hysterical screaming with very little warning, and has a knack for doing so whenever we are as far from home as possible. It is awful to be out in public with a screaming baby strapped to your chest and have nowhere to retreat to. Passersby look at me with distaste or pity. I walk home fast, never fast enough. Good times.

(Today, as we were strolling down the street, a jogger I didn't recognize passed by and remarked "No crying today, huh?" Ah, I'm famous. If I'm going to be famous around the neighborhood, can't I be known for my wit or my smile or even my pitch-perfect Karaoke rendition of "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls? Do I have to be the lady who can't comfort her baby?)

Still, I find that a walk is worth the risk of public shaming because the baby and I both need the fresh air and exercise, and it helps us sleep better at night. Isolating ourselves in the house exacerbates both our frustrations.

Also, if the baby starts crying near the university, I always think of it as a public service. The young people should be reminded of the consequences of unprotected sex. Nothing like the piercing cries of a colicky infant to remind every undergraduate in a half-mile radius to invest in some good quality contraception.