FIRESWAMP!

FIRESWAMP! A made up word that now has the capacity to send chills up my spine and vomit down my shirt. If you've seen The Princess Bride, you'll know what I'm referencing. If you haven't seen The Princess Bride, we must not be friends. Westley and Buttercup are doing their best to navigate the Fire Swamp, a feat no one has ever accomplished due to its various booby traps and perilous quirks. Every now and again, the ground will erupt in a burst of flame, presumably at random and without warning. However, Westley discovers that a few faint clicks precede the explosion and therefore is able to avoid catching on fire. Where am I going with this? Well, my son doesn't spontaneously burst into flame, but he does, however spontaneously vomit with surprising force and volume.

I seem to have better luck than Brandon when it comes to the whitewashing, so he asked me the other day as I readied a bib and made my way to the tile floor how I knew it was coming on. My response? Fireswamp. Once a day, he erupts and I've almost figured out when it's going to happen, based on the Fire Swamp theory. He lets out a couple of clicks/gags and that alerts me that I have less than two seconds to get to the sink. 99% of the time, I'm more than two seconds from the sink, so end up with warm, fresh puke running down my shirt and pants, necessitating at least a full wardrobe change of both layers and usually a shower. Needless to say, it's maddening. But when he looks up at me with those big, beautiful, blue eyes all is forgiven...after my shower. Motherhood: taking the bad with the good since the beginning of time.

 

I suppose you could say I'm blessed in the breastfeeding department. I feel incredibly fortunate that it came easily with my first and it's been easy with my second. Perhaps a little TOO easy. Mason, much like his parents, overeats.To the point of throwing up obscene amounts of formerly perfect breastmilk. I work hard on it. Okay, I don't really, but it's still kind of a slap in the face. People have gasped when they see the bottles I've pumped for both my kids, joking that I produce heavy cream. Apparently you can see straight through a lot of breastmilk but mine is opaque. You'd think he'd appreciate that.

I talked to his pediatrician about it after several volcanic eruptions and she told me that I must have a very strong let down and he's getting more than he needs - not a nursing problem you hear often. So I've been instructed to burp him more and pump before he eats. As frustrating as it is to be drenched in projectile vomit moments before you plan to walk out the door it sounds infinitely more maddening to have to pump and clean all that equipment every 2 hours. So I play Ralph Roulette numerous times a day. It isn't acid refulx, since it doesn't happen every time and it doesn't seem to bother him. Therein lies the problem. It isn't preceded by crying or sings of distress, he just spews. While I like to think that I've got it figured out, he still holds the element of surprise and Mount Mason explodes all over me several times a week. Let's just say I'm glad we're not playing with fire.