Irony thy name is spit up.
So…it happened. Not 24 hours after posting how my nights go with Tony. I got up at 2 when I heard that little “I’m hungry” whimper. I get him out of his crib. Throw his bottle into hot water. Sarah prepares a bottle every night…which helps a bunch. I change his diaper, grab a drink for myself, hit the head, grab him and his bottle, and settle in on the couch. Turned on the tube, started flipping through info commercials and bad late night TV.
After about half a bottle, I burped him…and he spit up. “That’s weird, he usually doesn’t do that.” So I clean him up and get another burp cloth and settle back in.
After the bottle was empty, I burped him again, and instead of the sleepy baby or happy baby I’m use to, he has a look of “oh shit” in his eyes. I burp him some more, and he spits up more. “This isn’t fun”.
So about 3 hours later, after rocking and burping and walking and burping and snuggling and burping we collapse on the couch. No good bonding time, just a helluva fussy baby. After a quite 15 minutes, I get up and get him to bed and pass out beside Sarah.
He woke Sarah up about 30 minutes later to eat. it was a long night for the binja.



Leave a Reply