Jamie is killing me.
His sleep is deteriorating rapidly and as usual in such cases I can’t determine the cause. At least not easily. It could be reflux. It could be teething. It could be developmental. It could be all three. It could be none of these. I’ve switched his medication schedule around, added in some extra Mylanta for the reflux and painkillers for the teeth. He’s still a crankpot.
For most of the day today he was shrieking. If he wasn’t asleep, he would shriek. Not cry. Not wail. Not shed a single tear. Just shriek at the top of his lungs to make sure I fully understood his displeasure.
I understood. Deeply.
I know this is all temporary and that it will get better with time. I know that it won’t kill me or anyone else. I know that it’s just an unpleasant fact of life in regards to having an infant in the house. Some days it’s hard to take the long view, though.
At this rate the trip to Michigan for Thanksgiving is going to be exercise in torture and that solitary confinement cell at Gitmo is starting to look like the Ritz.