Home from PA

We got home yesterday after a grueling twelve hours of traveling, and had to immediately take Squeaky to an emergency clinic. She's there now, hooked up to an IV. Our sweet kitty. She started throwing up on Thursday while we were gone. The neighbor who was watching her for us called and said she had thrown up several times but was eating and seemed fine. We decided to wait and see if she stopped throwing up, but she continued. On Friday she wasn't doing well at all, but we were coming home the next day and felt like our neighbor couldn't handle taking Squeaky in (nor did she seem to want to). It's a huge challenge getting her in the carrier and we wouldn't wish it on anyone. But we didn't know until we got home that Squeaky hadn't eaten in two days and hadn't even come downstairs. She had vomited in pretty much every room, some rooms multiple times. She was very, very sick and weak.

Eight hundred dollars later, we know that she has an irritated GI tract, probably from something she swallowed. Her intestines are bunched up and there's gas trapped inside, and she's dehydrated from vomiting. The hope is that she'll pass whatever she swallowed with the help of fluids; otherwise she'll need surgery, which we cannot afford. We've been waiting to hear from the clinic all day, and are not happy that it's now 4:00 and we haven't heard anything. We called around 11 a.m. and they said they'd call us back with an update. Waiting . . .

E, in the meantime, has had a rough day. It's hard adjusting to being back home, and he's beyond exhausted. I don't think we've ever seen him this tired. This morning he cried and cried, and we couldn't figure out what was wrong. We think he was just tired out and readjusting. He took a short nap this morning and has been asleep for a loooong time this afternoon.

The past week has ushered in several fun new developments in the world of E. As of this morning, he points to his tummy and pats it when you ask where his tummy is. We discovered this when he was crying for no apparent reason and I said to TJ, "Do you think his tummy hurts?" And he looked at us meaningfully and then down at his tummy and started patting it. In the Houston airport yesterday, he covered his eyes with his hands and played peekaboo for the first time. It might just be the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. Meanwhile, on our trip he started signing "all done" when he finished a meal, and he also started saying "cup." It sounds more like he's swallowing his tongue when he says it ("gop"), but that's what he's saying. Let's see, he cut two teeth in the past week as well, including a molar, and he started to dance, really dance. He and his two-year-old cousin did a lot of dancing.

These are all sort of predictable skills and definitely boring for anyone else to hear about, but for us it's magical--in a way I bet is different for a second or third child. Not that subsequent children's milestones are any less fun, especially since every child is so unique, but . . . I just suspect it's different. I was thinking about this on our trip, observing TJ's sister's family. They have a two-year-old and a five-month-old. More about this later. I'll also be posting some pictures from our trip. I only took about a million.

Hard Decisions

We've decided not to take Squeaky in this morning after all. We're positive the blood didn't come from her rearend, and she's eating normally and acting completely normal. I think she sneezed and the blood came from her mouth? It hasn't happened since. Also, the two places I called this morning were booked in terms of boarders. We could've gotten her looked at, but she couldn't have stayed. I hate the thought of leaving her like this. I'm going to worry about her the whole time we're gone. But I don't know what else to do. Hopefully everything will be fine in the next six days, and we can assess the situation when we get back and take her to the doctor then if we need to.

Squeaky, Leaving, the Rebel

About to go to bed. We're leaving at 11:00 in the morning for the airport. But first we'll be calling a vet up the road (we never found a new vet when we bought this house), because we think Squeaky might have a kidney infection. Or something. We have found two blood stains--sprays of blood, really--that I realized today are from her. It's unclear where on her body the blood is coming from, but her mouth doesn't look bloody. Neither does her rear, but surely it's coming from there? My poor Squeak. Sweet girl. I always feel terrible leaving her anyway, and now it looks like we may be boarding her, which will be incredibly traumatic for her. (Just going to the vet will traumatize her in a huge way.)

I could go on about things, but it's late and I've got to sleep.

There are things we're looking forward to on this trip, like seeing Keltie and meeting our new nephew Owen (he's six months) and watching E play with his cousin Julia (Owen's big sister who's two), but I think at this point we're a bit freaked out about how E will react to having his schedule turned on its head, what he'll be like on the plane, what will happen if we encounter serious delays, how he'll do in the hotel room, and just the logistics of things like feeding him (dinnertime tomorrow will take place midair). These are our concerns, condensed. It will be stressful, in part because it's completely unpredictable, but I think it'll be okay once we're actually doing it. It will be an adventure, anyway!

Oh, I almost forgot: TJ and I exchanged gifts yesterday, and he totally shocked me by getting me the camera I've been dying to have but didn't think I'd get for years and years, if ever. It's the C.anon Rebel Xsi. I'd mentioned it in an email to him a year ago or so, and he found the email and went out and bought it. I could not believe it! It's not cheap, either. He's crazy. We don't get each other expensive gifts usually. Oh, but it's beautiful. We're taking it on the trip, so I'll post pictures when we get back. Hopefully I'll figure out how to work it between now and then.

Happy holidays . . .

Lists

My friend Keltie emailed a couple of days ago and said (she's so great), "Are you panicked about flying and the holidays and TJ's family and Christ, just getting ready for it all with Eamon? I would be. I would be making lists in my head for days and days."

Yes! That's what I'm doing! Last night I went out and bought toys for the plane trips. Lots of toys. They'll be E's Christmas presents, way more than he would get if we weren't traveling. He'll get some on the way there and some on the way back, and then he'll have presents from relatives on Christmas Day (not that it will matter to him since he doesn't understand Christmas yet).

We're staying with Keltie in Philly on Monday night since our flight gets in late and our hotel (near TJ's sister's house) is two hours away. I'm so excited to see Kel and for her to meet E, but I'm bummed that we won't get to meet her baby girl, Ellie, who is four weeks older than E. She'll already be in the DC area with her dad, maximizing time with grandparents.

We're also spending our last night in PA at Keltie's house, but she won't be there at that point. It's wonderful to not have to stay in a hotel for two of the nights, and to be somewhere that's set up for a baby.

There are so many details to think about, and I haven't thought them through completely yet because I've had my hands full being sick, taking care of E, and trying to finish Christmas shopping (which is actually a much easier task this year since we're only doing gifts for TJ's six nieces and nephews and my five [counting my sister-in-law] siblings). I felt horrible earlier today but am feeling better now. It's too boring to get into. I'm bored of being sick and talking about being sick and I'd like it to be over soon. I'm missing a co-op meeting tonight because of it, and I really needed to be there.

Time to get the pizza out of the oven.

The Ick, and Tales of E

The picture at the top of this blog is so old and summery. It's time for an update. After the holidays sometime. Maybe I'll move to Wordpress. I've wanted to for a while, but just haven't taken the time. (Same goes for email, incidentally. I have a gmail account and I swear I'm going to start using it as my primary account one of these years.)

Anyway. So. I'm still sick. Day six. I guess I haven't mentioned on here that TJ came down with the cold last Friday and was in bed until Sunday. My throat continued to hurt like a bitch all day Saturday, and then I started to feel a lot worse that night when E and I were at a holiday gathering at Catherine and Shannon's house. Sunday TJ and I both felt rotten. I've continued to deteriorate since then (I now sound like a swamp monster), and TJ's gotten better (thank god). In the meantime, the cold seems to have bypassed E (knock on wood). His nose is runny and he's temperamental and fussy, but it seems to be related to teething (molar #2 is just about through). His night sleep hasn't been interrupted, and I know it would be if his throat were hurting.

E has never spent so much time at home (no playground yesterday, no co-op today, no anything on Sunday), and he's done great, all things considered. He's sporting two fat lips currently, however. Top and bottom, opposite sides. Bloody pajama tops accompanied both incidents. Luckily we had popsicles on hand specifically for this purpose--something we learned from the accident that sent us to the ER a couple of months ago. The first fall related to the coffee table and the second was just one of those where he's walking along and then suddenly face plants. It's always so sad, and yet he recovers remarkably quickly.

Being sick has affected everything, and I find it endlessly frustrating. The past three weekends have ended up being shot (illness only responsible for this past one), and that has greatly compromised our state of readiness for the holidays. I had so much to do this week, and it's not getting done. Period. I was stressed out enough about our trip (we leave Monday) without feeling hopelessly behind. I'm working on letting things go and just doing what I can and not feeling like a big loser, but this does not come naturally to me.

I left the house with E this morning for the first time since Saturday, determined to get some groceries for at least the next couple of days. We've been doing takeout. I got the next closest thing--rotisserie chicken for tonight and a frozen pizza for tomorrow. This caused me to reflect on our diet. We used to eat a frozen pizza once every week or two, but we haven't had one in about six months--ever since we changed our diet. But in the past couple of months, we've gotten lazy and started eating pasta and bread again, not being careful with what we order in restaurants, and I've gained the four or five pounds back that I'd lost this summer (seemingly all in my belly). It's actually kinda cool in a way to see such a direct connection. Hopefully we can get back on track after the holidays.

E, in the meantime, is a heartstopping delight. A challenge at times, but always a delight. There's no other word for it. He's walking very well--very fast!--and bending his knees more when he walks. He's very into putting lids onto their respective objects, or otherwise taking two halves of something and making it whole. Catherine's little brother passed down his Mega Blocks cars to E, and E loves them. He brings them to us to have us take them apart, and then he tries to put them back together. He's also still into balls and stacking blocks. He recently figured out how to turn a light switch on and off, and we often stand at the bank of switches at the bottom of the stairs. He flicks them up and down and twists with surprise every time a light comes on or goes off. He also loves books, and brings them to us to read to him over and over. He especially loves the DK board books about colors, opposites, and times of day. We read My First Colors Board Book many, many times each day, and I point to the pictures of objects that are familiar to him--bananas, rubber ducks, grapes, dog, cat. And songs; we sing songs every day.

He has a fiery, fiery temperament, and screeches at the drop of a hat from frustration or anger. He's single-minded about his desires. He adores Squeaky with all his heart, and is often good about giving her gentle pets, though their interactions require close supervision. At the end of the day, around 4:00 or 5:00, he wants me to hold him while I go about preparing dinner or changing out the laundry. I oblige until my left arm protests emphatically, probably somewhere around the half hour mark. At times I'll put him in the Ergo, but he's not as content there.

I love the feeling of his small, solid body in my arms.

He's understanding more and more of what we say, and he's starting to imitate sounds a bit more. If I tell him we're going to the park, he'll say, "pa." He also seems to be saying "book," though it's hard to distinguish from "ball." Just tonight (I started this earlier but am finishing it in the evening), I was holding him and stirring a pot on the stove and he reached for it and I said, "Hot, hot!" He responded by pursing his lips and blowing out in short bursts, like I do when I blow on his food. We got the biggest kick out of this, seeing as how we had no idea he connected the two.

One last little E story, boring to everyone except my future self and perhaps E's future self or his children: Sometimes when we're downstairs, I'll be at the kitchen sink washing dishes, and I'll realize it's gotten quiet. I'll start walking through the living room, calling E's name, even though I'm pretty sure where he is. Sure enough, I always find him standing inside the darkened bathroom with a huge grin on his face, practically wringing his hands in anticipation, waiting to be caught. He never puts his hands in the toilet anymore--he knows he's not supposed to, so instead he just stands by the toilet and waits.

And there you have a spontaneous summary of fourteen-month-old E, who has just woken from his nap.

Be gone, snot! (That sounds much cheerier than I feel.)

E, slightly blurry and oh so sweet

Domestic Disturbances

Fascinating column by Judith Warner in the NYT on Friday about emotional emeshment between parents and children.
You can find it here.

Not Allergies

As I felt progressively worse last night, it slowly dawned on me that this was more than allergies. Sure enough, I had a little fever hovering around 100. And boy did I feel awful. TJ and E took me to the doctor this morning. It probably wasn't a necessary trip, but I wanted to rule out strep, what with it being a Friday and my throat feeling like I couldn't swallow solid food very well. It looks like it's just your average cold, though. TJ has been wonderful--he took the day off and has basically waited on me hand and foot and taken care of E. He put him down for his nap today for the first time in months. I wish I were better at accepting his help like this without feeling guilty or uncomfortable. It's ridiculous considering the amount of time I've spent recently batting away small resentments and wishing he took more initiative around here. As always, I'm good at shooting myself in the foot. In any case, he has been VERY sweet to me today. I should get sick more often!

Allergies, and the sign for milk

Woke up this morning feeling like an anvil had been dropped on my head. At first I was afraid I was coming down with a cold, but I've since realized that it's allergies. Cedar, I think. Eamon woke up with a runny nose as well. My headache is gone now, but my throat has gotten worse. Damn you, allergies.

I'm pleased to report that E has made his first sign. The sign for milk. In retrospect, we can see that he's been making it for a while now, but we thought he was randomly waving hello in his high chair. No, the poor kid was trying to communicate that he wanted some milk. How confusing for him: He would sign milk and we would respond by waving enthusiastically and saying "Hi!" But we've got it all sorted out now, and I have to say it was exhilarating to communicate with him at lunchtime in this way. Now if he could only figure out "more," that would truly make a big difference.

Cat food cans are perfect for stacking

The First Two Weeks

I went out by myself today to do a little Christmas shopping, and in the car on the way there I could feel the hormonal heaviness of this month's cycle settling around my shoulders. It wasn't so bad; the world just seemed kinda gray and without taste. All day I've been trying to find something I wanted to eat but nothing appealed to me. I had a brief flashback in the car to the way I felt after E was born. It was really nothing like how I felt today; I was at peace, in general, today. But this afternoon's food blah-ness reminded me just a tad of those days. I am so frightened at the thought of ever feeling that way again.

I remember going to the doctor to get my incision checked when E was twelve days old. It was a Friday morning. We'd been home from the hospital seven days. My OB's nurse, who I'd always found abrasive and demeaning (I've since switched practices), fixed me with this look and asked me in so many words if I had post-partum depression. I said I had no idea, but that I loved my baby. For some reason I wanted her to know that I loved him. Looking back, I would say the love I was talking about was more of a fierce protectiveness, closely related to fear, but I didn't know that then, because I didn't have the love I feel now to compare it to. She told me that the amount of weight I'd lost since the birth--twenty-eight pounds--was a red flag. She asked if I was eating, and I hated having to say no. I couldn't eat, not without gagging. I knew I needed to eat, especially given the surgery and blood loss I was recovering from, not to mention the fact that I was desperately trying to breastfeed. But I could not for the life of me eat. To say I had no appetite would be an understatement. This was new to me. My dad called me the human garbage disposal growing up, and not much has changed in that regard. The nurse asked how I was doing emotionally, if I was crying a lot. Um, yes, I was crying a lot. A LOT. I didn't exactly tell her this, although I did admit to being emotional. I told her, feebly, that I'd read that baby blues could last up to two weeks, and I pointed out somewhat desperately that I wasn't quite to the end of those two weeks yet. She stared at me silently, straight through my skull, and I stared back, aware that my eyes weren't able to hide the fear and panic that had me in their grip. I was hardly breathing, trying to keep from crying or showing any sign that I might be about to cry. She told me how important it was to catch PPD early, and encouraged me to call back the following week if I wasn't feeling better. I thanked her in as cheerful a manner as I could fake, and made it halfway across the waiting room to TJ (and tiny E) before starting to sob.

To this day I can't say for sure if I had PPD. I suppose I didn't, technically, because things did start to turn around after the two-week mark passed, but I also feel certain that what I experienced was not just the baby blues. I believe I looked PPD in the eye and ultimately escaped it for various reasons. I'll never forget the way it felt, the way the hours and days stretched ahead of me like a death sentence. The way I couldn't sleep even though I was far, far past the point of total exhaustion. I've never felt so unlike myself, so incapable, so fearful. I remember telling TJ day after day that something was wrong with me, that I knew this was not normal, that I could not go on like this. I have such sympathy for anyone who's felt this way for months on end. I can't imagine. Those two weeks were an eternity.

I remember when I got myself back (however minimally). It was Monday; E was fifteen days old. Fifteen days: it sounds like nothing now. A blip of time. But it felt, and feels, so much more significant than that. Following a talk with my parents and TJ the night before, I realized the next day, Monday, that the dark, dark veil had been lifted from my eyes overnight, and some measure of equilibrium seemed to have been restored in the immediate world. I was still exhausted and weak and overwhelmed, but I didn't feel mentally ill. I could see the top of the mountain. I could see my perfect boy, and I was nursing him and he was finally starting to latch on, and I was saved.

Poor Toothy Dada, Tired Grouchy Mama

TJ's doing really well. He hasn't had any paid medication since Thursday night, after he threw up (I gave him an anti-nausea pill after that). His stomach was funky last night as well, probably from the antibiotic. His mouth is achy and a bit swollen, but overall he's doing amazingly. He's actually worked quite a bit yesterday and today, which I found a bit irritating, to be honest. I mean, if you're well enough to work, you're well enough to help with the baby. Right? I've been on solo baby duty pretty much since he left for Fargo the Friday before last, and I'm not going to lie: I'm tired and a bit burned out. Today I was bothered by the fact that all the Eamon-related duties seem to fall to me by default lately. If I get a break, it's a black and white thing. For instance, TJ will watch him specifically so I can get dressed or check email. It feels very regimented and constrained. But if we're all together, I'm the one entertaining, supervising, feeding, changing, doing naptime, and so on, while TJ sits back and relaxes. On the one hand, I don't care. I'm used to it, and I love being with Eamon. But on the other hand, Mama could use some help, and she doesn't always want to have to ask.

But we had a talk about this stuff today, and it was good. I know I'm being a bit of a hardass. I mean, the guy just had four teeth yanked out of his head two days ago. And he's usually wonderfully involved in Eamon tasks. He gets up with him in the morning (after I nurse him) and feeds him breakfast and does kitchen stuff while I do my thing upstairs, and he bathes him at night and reads to him. And there's other stuff. It's just the past couple of weeks that I've been doing it ALL, and that brought us to today. I also know that part of my issue has to do with needing to be seen and appreciated (both when it comes to childcare and also when it comes to housekeeping, which I'm constantly doing).

Oh, did I mention that I have a touch of the ol' PMS? At least I think I do. Lovely.

Go, go, go, and a DVD player

Yesterday morning E and I met a high school friend of mine and her 16-month-old daughter at the Children's Museum. We'd planned to meet at Zilker Park, but it was too cold out. Neither of us had been to the museum, so it was the perfect place to meet, although it made for a very high energy outing. Little Alayna had her arms wrapped around her mom's leg, looking all around, or she'd hold her mom's hand while tentatively exploring the loud, crowded room. Even when she went off by herself, she never strayed far from her mama. My guy, on the other hand (who's two months younger), was a whirling dervish. He never stopped moving; he walked anywhere and everywhere, eyes wide, arms and legs pumping, smiling and waving at any stranger who caught his eye. Off he'd go across the room, into the next room, down a hallway, up a ramp, back down the ramp, etc. He never looked back. Anytime I picked him up to move him back to a central location, he threw his arms up in the air and arched his back. He had places to go! It was amazing to see the difference in Alayna and E's personalities. Alayna is such a sweet girl. I just kept staring at her, watching her take it all in, observing the intimate way she communicated with her mom. Part of me is full of pride that my boy is often so confident and secure and outgoing (he's not always, but in this setting he was). I love his energy and his drive and the fountain of happiness that pours out of him when he bonds with someone he's just met. But I have to say that I've noticed it's a lot more work keeping up with a guy like E! Or maybe that's not a fair thing to say. I guess what I mean is that it takes a different kind of energy. He keeps me on my toes, this one. It's been incredible seeing how much he's changed just in the past month. The number of pictures I took of him last month dropped dramatically, and I think that's directly related to the fact that he's always moving, and I'm always moving with him or after him or trying to keep up with the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake. I've also noticed that I almost never talk on the phone anymore.

Given his need for motion and his aversion to being held or contained for long, TJ and I have started to dread and worry about the upcoming plane rides to and from Pennsylvania. We plan to buy some new toys to introduce on the plane, but we both know that's not going to cut it. So, today we bit the bullet and bought a portable DVD player. I know, I know. And who knows if it will even hold E's attention. We don't let him watch tv at home, but we're going to make an exception for these plane rides and hope it buys us some time. I suppose it will be good to have in the arsenal, especially if we encounter horrible delays as we have in the past over Christmas. (I cannot imagine.) TJ, by the way, began geeking out the minute we got the DVD player home. He'll be able to take it with him when he travels for work, which is nice, and it can also act as our home DVD player (it hooks up to a TV) when the crappy used one we bought six years ago on EBay finally dies.

A Banner Day for Personal Upkeep

Started this earlier in the week . . .

Tuesday was a good day. E did well at co-op, and I spent an hour shopping at Book People and Whole Foods while he was there (and still got back a half hour early in case he was getting tired). That hour of shopping did wonders for me. I can't recall the last time I felt so light and inner focused, yet connected to the larger world, just wandering around, looking at books, picking out a new desk calendar, looking for a birthday gift for someone. Then at Whole Foods, I found a waxing kit. Up until now, I've driven to a salon all the way in South Austin to get a bikini wax every, oh, two months or more. When E was little I just took him with me, but then he became too mobile, and since then it's turned into this big hairy deal (groan, the pun; totally not intended), whereby I have to go on a Saturday and have TJ look after E, etc. And it costs close to $40 with tip. I haven't been in months (oh dear), and it's an important ritual for me. It gives me a boost of confidence and leaves me feeling human and kept up. I wish I could just shave, but that doesn't work for me--my skin doesn't handle it well. Anyway. I bought a waxing kit for $11.99, and it worked beautifully. It was positively liberating to take control over this matter of personal hygiene, to no longer have to rearrange my schedule and shell out a chunk of money to have someone else do this intimate and unpleasant task. Now I can do it myself, at home, anytime I need to.

Later Tuesday evening, after I put E down, I went to the outlets to return some shoes I'd gotten him that he refused to walk in, and while I was there it occurred to me that I should buy some new bras. I've mostly still been wearing my yellowed, ratty nursing bras. They're C cups (or B? I can't remember), and my now shrunken breasts swim in the soft fabric cups. It looks gross, and I'm not getting any support. My old bras are mostly padded, and they appear to be too large now as well--I'm smaller than I was before I got pregnant. I wonder if this is common? I discovered Tuesday night that I'm not even an A anymore, which surprised me. When I stare at myself in the mirror, I don't even recognize my chest. My breasts look sad and used up, to be frank. That said, I'm trying to embrace their new smallness. With the help of a kind salesperson, I found three bras, all on sale, very plain (not much to choose from), but they have a wonderfully close fit and it felt good to take care of myself in this way. I highly recommend it--not always neglecting yourself. Even if you're tired and you don't feel like going out at night (which is how I always feel), just do it every now and then. Now that I've done it once, I plan to do it again . . . after I neglect something else for a few months, of course.

What a Day

I started this earlier today.

TJ had four teeth extracted this morning. He had bone grafts on three of the sockets, which I only mention because it sounds so hardcore to me. In any case, we'd both been dreading this day, and I'd been stressing out about the childcare aspect of it. I had a hard time finding a sitter, but everything worked out at the last minute. E had a great time with Kat, who he's met several times before. She takes care of another baby in our '07 group. She stayed after I brought TJ home so I could go fill his numerous prescriptions and get him medicated before the numbness wore off.

He's now in bed with an ice pack, and Eamon is starting to stir from his nap. I think I'll take him to a park this afternoon since he hasn't been out today yet.

I didn't get much sleep last night (maybe four hours), but I've been in a kind of manic overdrive all day, so it hasn't mattered. I plan to make some potato leek soup after E's in bed. Last night was very windy--a cold front moved in--and our bedroom wall was creaking this horrible creak that never fails to drive me insane. Sometime after midnight I moved into the guest room/my office and slept fitfully in there until E woke up . . . at 5:15. I let TJ sleep in until after 8:00 because he wasn't supposed to have any food or liquid before his appointment, and I figured sleeping in would make that easier. It made for a helluva long morning for me and E, though.

It's sad seeing TJ in the position of "patient." That's a category I've been in many times in our relationship, but the tables have rarely (never, in fact) been turned. I went back with him for the pre-op stuff this morning, and it was unsettling to see the big guy laying there with tubes coming out every which way and a mask on his face. Vulnerable. I'm glad we're all home now. E and I are going to pick up Luby's for dinner. It's close by, and they have lots of soft foods that TJ can eat. Hopefully the next forty-eight hours will go by quickly.

One thing I've discovered is that being the caretaker is much preferable to being the patient. That's obvious, but has never felt so obvious to me. It sucks being the one who is in pain, who has to rest, who's doped up and out of it, who can't eat certain things, etc., while those around you are chowing down on burritos or enjoying some wine or whatever.

And now it's the evening and time to make that soup. I can't wait for bed.

5 AM Explosion of Poo

We were all up at 5:00 this morning dealing with the poo to end all poos. (Actually, I'm sure we're in for worse down the road, but this was pretty insane.) It covered E's back all the way to the top, and then went down his arms part way. This is the third morning he's woken up in the 5:00 range with a nasty, nasty poo. After a bath and much nursing and rocking, he went back to sleep (miracle!) from 6:20 to 7:15. He had diarrhea later in the morning. He's had diarrhea for days, and I do still believe it's teething related. But the poor boy. I cannot keep giving him Tylenol and Motrin at this rate.

p.s. TJ's home!