The weekend was a fine example of why many people choose not to clutter up their lives with children. Billy woke up at 7 on Saturday wanting milk (what else). He drank on and off till nine, then projectile vomited. Then he was hungry again. He drank till 11, and then projectile vomited again. Then he was hungry again. Unfortunately the laws of supply and demand kick in and there is no milk left. Thus we had bitter tears and recriminations in the form of anguished pouts and excruciatingly pleading eyes.
Of course all of this was on Heidiâ€™s shoulders; I am the hapless observer offering pathetic crumbs of encouragement like â€˜well, itâ€™ll teach him to throw up all his food!â€™ or â€˜at least he isnâ€™t dead!â€™ My words had little effect on Heidiâ€™s manic state of mind.
Around 3PM things improved; by this time Heidi had spent 8 hours straight servicing his needs. We went for a walk in the park and the motion of the carriage subdued him for nearly 3 hours. Returning home he roused and started his evening roaring session. This has become a routine now, any time between 6 and 8 he goes crazy. He completely forgets how to feed and bounces off Heidiâ€™s breasts like a drunken sailor. Heidi went to â€˜La Leche Leagueâ€™ yesterday and the woman told her that in China this stressful time is known as the â€˜100 days cryingâ€™, other cultures call these hours â€˜the witching hoursâ€™. NOBODY told us about this before. Thank you.
When this happens we carry him around, Heidi keeps trying to feed him or give him his dummy, we pull faces, we coo, we curse, we rock, we squeeze and we burp him and eventually he nods off.
Around 10pm I escaped to a friendâ€™s house for an hour or two whilst they slept. On my return it was nappy change time and it was my turn to do it. As soon as I got the nappy off pee flew up in the air and a jet of what looked like pesto squirted onto his freshly laundered mat. This was ironic as pesto was the only thing weâ€™d had time to prepare that day.
Sunday was worse; he decided not to wait until the evening to forget how to drink milk. He had his first wobbler at 6am and spent most of the day screaming. We went to the park for lunch and he slept for a little while but other than that it was endless. Soothing words from my mother persuaded Heidi that she should use the bottle before she goes mad. Heidi pumped a ton of milk and Billy drank it no problem from the bottle. This isn’t a full capitulation, not yet. She is still putting him on the breast most of the time, but the no bottles rule is out. 36 hours of screaming does strange things to the mind. Heidi has decided it isn’t good for either of them. Or me.
He is lucky he is so adorably cute otherwise he wouldâ€™ve been flushed down the toilet like a dead fish long ago.