Murky Milk Musings

With six people in the house there's the tendency to always have some sort of drama.

There was lots of drama today. No one warned me that pms starts at the age of 7. And you know that sensitive guy that everyone hopes to marry? I did. His children are every bit as "sensitive." (Sorry, MacGyver. You know it's true.) The main trouble is that "sensitive" in a child translates into a lot of hitting, pulling hair, yelling, dissolving into tears, kicking, and screaming "I hate you" to the very siblings that they prayed fervently would come to be.

And when I was a child, I straightened up pretty fast when I got in trouble. At least I think I did. I didn't want a repeat. My children seem to revel in punishment. They can barely set foot out of timeout or finally have a privilege returned or receive any other form of punishment and a minute later they are pulling the same act that got them there in the first place.

Strong willed in a husband means a safe home, provision and comfort, relief that he will take care of the hard things and the big things. Strong willed passed on to 4 small children means.... either a whole lot of fun or a whole lot of drama.

I hate drama.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with what I was going to say in the first place, so it's time to get back on topic. All this was just to say that something's always going on in the house. Baby J has taken center stage in my mind in recent days.

Before I reveal my dilemma, I have to make a confession. Until a few days ago, I secretly looked down on moms that were sure their nursing babies had a milk allergy. I was one of the ones that rolled my eyes and whispered to other look-downers that it was all in their head and they were going to all that trouble for nothing. That even if the baby had a sensitivity to something the best way for them to "get over it" was to expose them to it.

That was before. Before that first little weird rash on his face a couple months ago. Before my happy, friendly baby got such a sad look on his face. Before hearing from the nurse that he'd only gained 3 ounces in two months. Before changing 4 dirty, weird looking, awful smelling diapers a day.(CLOTH diapers. I've been rinsing. A lot.) Before wiping my precious baby and seeing blood from all the sores on his bottom.

I'm supposed to take care of that bottom.

So I did my homework and to my great surprise the symptoms added up to an allergy. Which allergy was, and still is the question. I started with the most common. I stopped eating any dairy whatsoever and made sure everything that went into his mouth was also non-dairy. It's been a hard week. I love cheese. I miss cheese. The results haven't been incredibly clear. He seems happier, his bottom has healed, his face is a little less rashy, but we're still doing 3 dirty diapers a day. I'm going to throw all caution to the wind and eat Thanksgiving dinner the way it was intended to be eaten, in all of it's buttery, whipped cream glory, and see if there is any change. If not, I guess it will be time to haul the entourage back to the doctor. Hey, we made it a couple weeks without going for someone, I guess.

So that's the topic of the day. Strike a chord? Want to tell me off for my uncharitable thoughts? Tell me I deserve it? I know I do. Go ahead and say it if it makes you feel better. If anyone has advice or thinks I'm doing something wrong, that would be quite welcome also.

Good night!