Ahhh yes, it turns out my once docile young daughter has a set of chimes and likes to toll them in the morning and evening. According to the old MD, it's a case of late onset colic. I don't mind a few things coming in later than the books project, but colic? Come on, give me a bit of a break. No sleep, much less exercise, and now my little girl screams at me like there's no tomorrow.
So, the real deal. There's no explanation for colic, even thought there's myriad potential remedies and aids in the books and on the market. There's certainly some things you can do as a parent to help relieve the crying (drive around the block, warm baths, ear plugs, JD - just kidding), but none of them relieve the stress of being the parent with the wailing child. Will the neighbors hear? Do I care? Answer to both is no, but when the crying starts, it feels like a couple minutes turn into an eternity.
Colic comes and goes on its own timeline, and while the little one has to suffer physically through the tears and discomfort, the parents bear the burden of emotional distress and fatigue. That's why colic is an A-Hole. Anything that is impossible to remedy and makes everyone in the area suffer equally in their own way can be nothing else.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Rapture: A Bad Thing?
Given the world did not end as predicted on May 21st, My perspective has shifted from one of hopeful optimism to one of outright disatisfaction. Let me explain...starting with why I'm now upset.
The same preacher who falsely predicted the 21 May Armageddon earthquake also made a similar false claim back in 1994. Both failures were attributed to math errors, but that's beside the point. He has now claimed "the end" will be the last day of October, again this year. Anybody remember what day that is? Halloween! Come on, how can you ruin such a delightful day of celebration with a doomsday prediction. My daughter will be just shy of 7 months old this Halloween, and while that's a bit too young for snagging treats, it's plenty old enough to appreciate the visual spectacle.Basking in the glory of the heavens or staring down a zombie on the prowl for brains and perhaps a miniature candy bar? I choose the latter good sir.
So, why did I start out a little optimistic about the end of the world coming on May 21st you ask? Well, my daughter is currently 2.5 months old. She's a decent sleeper, but nothing like the old days when mom and dad could celebrate a hard day with a late morning in the sack. Honestly, I was just looking forward to being the only one in the house in the morning. A bit morbid, but it's not like the wife and kids were headed off to a bad place, and I'm pretty capable of fending for myself in the nasty days that supposedly will follow rapture.
Early rapture equals sleeping in. Battle for my soul begins later that day.
The same preacher who falsely predicted the 21 May Armageddon earthquake also made a similar false claim back in 1994. Both failures were attributed to math errors, but that's beside the point. He has now claimed "the end" will be the last day of October, again this year. Anybody remember what day that is? Halloween! Come on, how can you ruin such a delightful day of celebration with a doomsday prediction. My daughter will be just shy of 7 months old this Halloween, and while that's a bit too young for snagging treats, it's plenty old enough to appreciate the visual spectacle.Basking in the glory of the heavens or staring down a zombie on the prowl for brains and perhaps a miniature candy bar? I choose the latter good sir.
So, why did I start out a little optimistic about the end of the world coming on May 21st you ask? Well, my daughter is currently 2.5 months old. She's a decent sleeper, but nothing like the old days when mom and dad could celebrate a hard day with a late morning in the sack. Honestly, I was just looking forward to being the only one in the house in the morning. A bit morbid, but it's not like the wife and kids were headed off to a bad place, and I'm pretty capable of fending for myself in the nasty days that supposedly will follow rapture.
Early rapture equals sleeping in. Battle for my soul begins later that day.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Poop In My Lap
The day - 9 May, 2011. We are rolling merrily along on the return drive from our first road trip home to Tennessee. Seven days have gone fast, and the little one did amazingly well the entire week despite the constant shuttling between homes and being passed around the circle of oglers more than a football at the Super Bowl. Surely, something bad must happen. There must be punishment for my parental contentment and pride.
We knew the little one often used the bathroom mid stride in a diaper change. I understood the importance of the barrier between the child and the changing surface. In the past week, she must have outgrown such childish things. Really? Nope.
I decided, as my foot-long sub sat gleaming on the dash while I consoled a discontent newborn traveler in the backseat, that I could forego the barrier. Disaster. Punishment, indeed. No sooner was the poop soiled diaper removed from between my daughter and my lap that she unleashed a fecal fury that would make the most active monkey shriek with joy. My shorts were beyond the stage where wiping with a baby wipe works. Where is the suitcase? Lodged between the dog's kennel and the interior of the Jeep. No easy access from the inside to conceal my shame.
So, I tactically exited the vehicle, moving like a bank robber to his prize. The folks inside the bank where we were parked must have been alarmed. Who is this awkward person with what appears to be dijon mustard all over his lap and legs? I snagged a pair of pantaloons, changed in the backseat, and stuffed the tainted garment beneath the seat. Out of sight, out of mind.
Lesson learned. Well, reinforced; learned the lesson in week 1 and my conceit (and my daughter's poop) got the better of me.
We knew the little one often used the bathroom mid stride in a diaper change. I understood the importance of the barrier between the child and the changing surface. In the past week, she must have outgrown such childish things. Really? Nope.
I decided, as my foot-long sub sat gleaming on the dash while I consoled a discontent newborn traveler in the backseat, that I could forego the barrier. Disaster. Punishment, indeed. No sooner was the poop soiled diaper removed from between my daughter and my lap that she unleashed a fecal fury that would make the most active monkey shriek with joy. My shorts were beyond the stage where wiping with a baby wipe works. Where is the suitcase? Lodged between the dog's kennel and the interior of the Jeep. No easy access from the inside to conceal my shame.
So, I tactically exited the vehicle, moving like a bank robber to his prize. The folks inside the bank where we were parked must have been alarmed. Who is this awkward person with what appears to be dijon mustard all over his lap and legs? I snagged a pair of pantaloons, changed in the backseat, and stuffed the tainted garment beneath the seat. Out of sight, out of mind.
Lesson learned. Well, reinforced; learned the lesson in week 1 and my conceit (and my daughter's poop) got the better of me.
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