A couple of weeks after Orion was born, I gave myself a firm pat on the back for having safely sidestepped postpartum depression. Of course, I was dealing with my stress by living on nothing but peanut butter cups and spending 20 hours a day on the Internet with my BabyCenter birth club. So, although I didn't FEEL like a depressed person I sure was playing one on TV. At least I had a chance to channel the Crazy by putting using my medical degree from the University of Google to diagnose Orion's GI issues.
The first thing I figured out was absolutely correct. He had a raging case of reflux. It took a couple of weeks and a trip across town to a specialist (who was kind enough to walk a screaming Orion down the hall for a few minutes to give me a break) but we got the right medication rolling and that has been under control ever since. The second thing I Googled up was a home-diagnosis of Milk Protein Allergy.
Orion had this horrible orange-yellow runny poop all the time. My research told me that it was the milk proteins in my diet that he was reacting to. I guess there are a lot of milk proteins in peanut butter cups. Faced with the possibility of having to cut out all of the dairy in my diet (read: I was addicted to the peanut butter cups) I made the decision to switch him to formula. Luckily, I was able to dodge all of the expensive and smelly specialty formulas by using Good Start, which doesn't have the milk protein Casein in it. All was right with the world. OK, life was still crazy but at least Orion's poop issues were resolved.
I kind of forgot that someday it would become highly unfashionable for Orion to still be drinking formula and that he'd be getting his milk proteins the old fashioned way, as the beverage included in a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal. I guess that's why, when his recent switch from formula to whole milk was followed by a return of the nasty yellow poop, I didn't instantly recognize the problem. But lo and behold, here we are over a year after my initial diagnosis dealing again with the potential of Milk Protein Allergy. Either that, or he isn't tolerating the peanut butter cups I'm feeding him. (I kid! He much prefers Snickers bars.)
Our first shot at defeating the Yellow Poop of Doom was to change his bottle-beverage to Almond milk, which Orion loves because its sweet and expensive. At three days post-switch, it's not seeming to be good enough. We're now facing down the elimination of all dairy products from Orion's diet.
What a pain in the ass. Anybody got a peanut butter cup?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thanks GI Joe!
I have such paralyzing social anxiety, especially regarding use of the telephone, that I used to joke that if you left me at home with no car, a phone, and a $10 bill I would starve to death before I got the guts up to call and order a pizza. You can tell I've been suffering from this for a long time because we all know that, for starters, you can't get a pizza for $10 anymore and also that now I can just go online and put my debit card into the computer and for some amount greater than $10 (I try not to look) a creepy guy will show up at my door with the pie of my choice without my having to even pick up the phone. Ironic that I've spend the last 10 years working in call centers, no?
So it was a huge, HUGE, step for me today when I got a text message inviting Orion and I to a playdate today. A real one, with other kids, and other girls my age. Girls who cuss and laugh at farts just like me! These particular girls have known each other since highschool and I know how hard it is to find a new place withing those kinds of friendships. I'm not foooling myself into thinking that these are going to be my new BFF's or anything. But, how nice was it to sit and laugh while the kids played? Really nice, that's how.
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Dannon had an interview today for a job that he's overqualified for. We've got our fingers crossed that the company will see that they won't just be a pit stop (where else is he going to go?) so that they'll hire him and we can all eat again. We don't need much to live on now, but we do need something coming in soon. The feeling of not knowing where its going to come from is a little like having already jumped from the plane and then starting to wonder if you have a parachute or an empty backpack.
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When I was trying to get pregnant, or trying to get Dannon to let me try to get pregnant I Googled like a crazy person trying to figure out why I kept. Having. Miscarriages. In my searching, I came across A Little Pregnant. Julie's experiences were so similar to what I had been through, thought I would still have to go through, that I went back and read through her whole archive. I laughed with her and cried with her. Most of all, I realized I wasn't alone. When I'd devoured everything she'd written, I started chewing my way through her Blogroll.
I started at the beginning, and found All & Sundry right at the top of the list. I found that Linda's voice sounded even more like my own, and here we were at such similar points of our pregnancies. She with her second son, and me with my first. Again, I read every word I could find (note: let this be a lesson to employers not to allow emotional pregnant women unfettered access to the internet). From there I moved on, and now count Amalah and others as daily must reads, but it's Sundry that continues to speak to me like a little voice in my ear.
There's been a lot of self reflection going on on these blogs (I won't even THINK the MB word) in the last week about why bloggers do what they do as well as the morality and professionalism involved (or missing) from the decision to accept free products, trips, and other goodies in exchange for reviews. As a blog reader, I think its pretty cool that these awesome girls get thrown a little bone for their hard work. I take the trips vicariously through them and appreciate the giveaways they're able to sponsor. Frankly, I don't care if they spell out every single time that they've been compensated in some way for kind words aimed in the direction of a product. This may be SO last century, but I actually trust these writers. If they're going to tell me their kids' real names the very least I can do is believe them when they tell me that a certain kind of vacuum cleaner rocks out with it's cock out. I think that they go above and beyond when they add a disclaimer. FTC be damned, I'm smart enough not to need my hand held.
So that's that. However, the truth is that the BA Fearless Self Inventory had kind of prompted me to do something similar. Every time I read one of these posts, I just keep thinking about how very lucky these folks are to have people reading their words, laughing and crying along. Hey! I want people to read my words. Why aren't people reading my words?! There's a really simple answer. I have never given this link to another breathing human being. Well, I sort of described the link to one of my friends but I don't even know if she's come and read.
You may say, "But surely when you comment, you put the link in the little asky-bar custom made for these things!" Well, this is where we come full circle. I don't comment. I'm too chicken to comment. So my summer resolution is this:
I will commnet on blog posts that make me think, laugh, or cry. I will add my own blog link hoping people will find their ways here. I will see these ladies (and man...Hi! Danny) as torch-bearers and, though I am miles behind them in readership and book deals, I will get my writing out there.
It's going to mean that I open myself up for people to hate what I write, but that's ok. In order to hate it, people must first read it, and that's half the battle.
So it was a huge, HUGE, step for me today when I got a text message inviting Orion and I to a playdate today. A real one, with other kids, and other girls my age. Girls who cuss and laugh at farts just like me! These particular girls have known each other since highschool and I know how hard it is to find a new place withing those kinds of friendships. I'm not foooling myself into thinking that these are going to be my new BFF's or anything. But, how nice was it to sit and laugh while the kids played? Really nice, that's how.
----------
Dannon had an interview today for a job that he's overqualified for. We've got our fingers crossed that the company will see that they won't just be a pit stop (where else is he going to go?) so that they'll hire him and we can all eat again. We don't need much to live on now, but we do need something coming in soon. The feeling of not knowing where its going to come from is a little like having already jumped from the plane and then starting to wonder if you have a parachute or an empty backpack.
----------
When I was trying to get pregnant, or trying to get Dannon to let me try to get pregnant I Googled like a crazy person trying to figure out why I kept. Having. Miscarriages. In my searching, I came across A Little Pregnant. Julie's experiences were so similar to what I had been through, thought I would still have to go through, that I went back and read through her whole archive. I laughed with her and cried with her. Most of all, I realized I wasn't alone. When I'd devoured everything she'd written, I started chewing my way through her Blogroll.
I started at the beginning, and found All & Sundry right at the top of the list. I found that Linda's voice sounded even more like my own, and here we were at such similar points of our pregnancies. She with her second son, and me with my first. Again, I read every word I could find (note: let this be a lesson to employers not to allow emotional pregnant women unfettered access to the internet). From there I moved on, and now count Amalah and others as daily must reads, but it's Sundry that continues to speak to me like a little voice in my ear.
There's been a lot of self reflection going on on these blogs (I won't even THINK the MB word) in the last week about why bloggers do what they do as well as the morality and professionalism involved (or missing) from the decision to accept free products, trips, and other goodies in exchange for reviews. As a blog reader, I think its pretty cool that these awesome girls get thrown a little bone for their hard work. I take the trips vicariously through them and appreciate the giveaways they're able to sponsor. Frankly, I don't care if they spell out every single time that they've been compensated in some way for kind words aimed in the direction of a product. This may be SO last century, but I actually trust these writers. If they're going to tell me their kids' real names the very least I can do is believe them when they tell me that a certain kind of vacuum cleaner rocks out with it's cock out. I think that they go above and beyond when they add a disclaimer. FTC be damned, I'm smart enough not to need my hand held.
So that's that. However, the truth is that the BA Fearless Self Inventory had kind of prompted me to do something similar. Every time I read one of these posts, I just keep thinking about how very lucky these folks are to have people reading their words, laughing and crying along. Hey! I want people to read my words. Why aren't people reading my words?! There's a really simple answer. I have never given this link to another breathing human being. Well, I sort of described the link to one of my friends but I don't even know if she's come and read.
You may say, "But surely when you comment, you put the link in the little asky-bar custom made for these things!" Well, this is where we come full circle. I don't comment. I'm too chicken to comment. So my summer resolution is this:
I will commnet on blog posts that make me think, laugh, or cry. I will add my own blog link hoping people will find their ways here. I will see these ladies (and man...Hi! Danny) as torch-bearers and, though I am miles behind them in readership and book deals, I will get my writing out there.
It's going to mean that I open myself up for people to hate what I write, but that's ok. In order to hate it, people must first read it, and that's half the battle.
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