Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Dear Joliet, Month 4.

So I've had this letter written in my head since March 19th, but just now getting it down on paper...er, blogger.  Between being a full time mom, full time wife, full time employee outside of the home, full time cook, housekeeper, launderer, etc.... (I say full time, there was many a night where Jason went to bed hungry I'm sure, I was too tired to notice that I hadn't eaten), while also trying to start up two businesses from home. One a photography business, and one a stationary business.  My plate is FULL, I tell you. f.u.l.l.  That's why I'm just now writing this letter to Jolie.  Although, month 4 will be a month that will never ever ever be forgotten by anyone who lived within ear shot of our home or who is listed in my recent calls list on my cell phone.
Month 4 with Jolie was the hardest month of my entire.entire.ENTIRE. life. 

Dear Joliet,
    Whoa baby.  Let me just put this out there.... again, since it's been awhile since I've written it out, and I never want you to forget it.  You are the light of lives.  Our hearts didn't know true love until we saw your face. We find joy just watching you discover your world.  Your smiles, your coos, your laughter, your tears.  We love it all.  Life is so much better with you in it.
   But my Lord did you give us some grey hairs during the fourth month of your life.  The first three months you were a baby.  Doing what babies do.  Sleep, eat, cry, spit up, poop, pee, repeat.  You did more than your fair share of projectile vomiting, and crying, but it was okay. You are a baby. Babies cry. Over the weeks it got worse. A lot worse.  You cried from the time I picked you up in the afternoons, through the evening, until we put you to bed.  It wasn't a frantic cry... yet.  I took you to the doctor on a Tuesday, and told them that you cried. a lot. They took one look at your head cocked back while you napped, and immediately diagnosed you as a "classic reflux baby".  They prescribed zantac, said "that should do it!", patted me on the back a little, and sent us home. You got worse.  Your daddy and I went a little crazy, and I got an ulcer, and new crowsfeet.  I'm sure you gave your mamaw a few grey hairs as well.  "Mamaw Nita" is our neighbor who watches Jolie during the day, and I swear she is an angel in disguise.  I spent hours on the phone with your grandmommy crying, cussing, and just generally bemoaning the fact that my poor little baby was miserable pretty much morning, noon, and night.  I wondered how the crying could get worse.  Was sure it couldn't get worse.  We took you back to the doctor on a Friday, they prescribed prevacid.  It got worse.  It got so so worse.  You no longer cried. You screeched. You screamed.  You arched your back, and your tummy got hard as a rock and you howled so loud the dogs hid in the corner with their heads tucked into their sides.  I wanted to join them.  We felt so horrible.  You were pitiful.  Morning, noon, and night.  For two weeks you no longer napped.  You passed out from the fatigue of screaming so long and so loud.  You screamed so loud and so long that your voice got hoarse.  You would open your mouth to scream and no noise would come out. You wouldn't nurse, you wouldn't take a paci, you would only eat when you were so hungry that you had to.  You were miserable.  And we were miserable because we couldn't fix it.   It wasn't reflux.  I mean, it was reflux, but it wasn't only reflux.  It was colic.  Whatever that is.  You had it.  We tried everything.  I stopped eating everything, but bread and water.  We tried formula.  We tried medicine that worked like a muscle relaxer (to try to ease the stomach cramps).  We tried baths, and baby massages, and rice cereal in your bottle. We put you in the car, we put you on the dryer, we put you in the swing, we carried you around all day, every day. Nothing worked.  We were burned out.  Literally at the end of our pitifully fraying ropes.  Finally, we just decided to take you off all the medicine, because it obviously wasn't working, and we didn't like the idea of you taking it anyway. That was a Monday.  You got better.   Not all at once.  But one day soon after we woke up, lived our day, and went to bed that night, and you were a baby again.  Not a demon child.  I say that with tongue in cheek, because it wasn't your fault that you were hurting, and miserable, but it really truly seemed like you were possessed.  It was that bad.  We fully expected your head to spin around on your neck at times.   You started to smile again.  You started to grab things, and recognize me and daddy when we came in the room.  You would hear our voices and look around till you found us.  You started to grow and thrive again, and we started watching you again, and enjoying loving on you and living with you again not just existing and trying to stay sane.  Never for a moment did we stop loving you, but those were two very long, very gut wrentchingly exhausting weeks.  And then they were over, and I sit here now typing out the words, and it seems so distant, like it might not have even really happened at all. 

Through all that, there were little changes as well.  Your thick, dark hair started falling out a little.  You plumped up a lot! Your little thighs filled out, and you have chunky little wrists and still have your snuggly little double chin.  Your blue eyes turned dark grey, and then got a little brown in them.  And you love, love, love to be outside.  I think you would stay outside watching the clouds move across the sky, and wind blow through the trees all day long and never get tired of it.  We are so happy that you are happy.

4 Months little birdie.  We love you every second.

Love Always,

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