So as Mommy and I were chatting the other day, because that’s what we do (more of Mommy talking to me in between my still pretty frequent screaming fits), we’ve decided that I’m a high maintenance kinda’ guy. Now, I don’t know what that means, but here’s what I gathered from the conversation. First, because I have two infected big toe nails, Mommy has to soak my feet in epsom salts three times a day and apply an ointment (you try soaking a seven week old colicky baby’s feet). That’s not going so well. Next, I have a stuffy nose. In comes the saline every morning. I don’t like it. And then on to the ongoing reflux problem. Now, Momma’s not a doctor, but anyone smelling the acid in my mouth could tell you that that’s what I’ve crying about for the first seven weeks of my life. Anyway, after visiting Doctor Mary, we’re on a first name basis now, she concluded that I am a big boy (11 lbs 15 oz) who has outgrown my original dosage of 1ml every morning. Now it’s 1 ml twice a day one half hour before a feeding and increases each week. I don’t like that either. In fact, I spit it back out at Mommy every time. Give Momma points for trying. I threw her a bone the last two nights by sleeping until 4:30AM! BUT–that’s only because, in the famous words of my sister, I am swaddled up “tighter than last year’s swimsuit!” Daddy wraps me so tight that there’s not an ounce of wiggle room. I like it like that! Now that all just sounds like to me a man who knows what he wants and likes…not high maintenance! Silly Mommy!

Mommy Note: We also know the pharmacist at the Kroger on a first name basis now. Not high maintenance my formula soaked shirt!