If Only the Stuff Could Be Harnassed...

When I was a mere wee one, all of three years old living in Westchester County in New York, I developed a massive fear of cows. Now those familiar with the area know that cows are exactly roaming the streets of the suburbs New York City. But I was terrified. I'd say to my parents every night, "Scared cow! Scared cow!" What ultimately cured me of my fright is when my parents brought home my newborn baby sister, the Tweedle Twirp, who shared a room with me. Apparently, as soon as she was placed in that crib, I declared I was no longer scared cow. "Tweeds will protect me," I said.

Fast foward thirty-four years. Poor Sweetie has had a problem with gas. Lots of painful, miserable gas. The kind of gas that has us walking the floors for hours, bouncing, whispering, cajoling her to feel better. So I gave up eating. Pretty much everything. And her gas did indeed improve. However Doodles also had major gas and he simply grew out of it, so I started to think it was coincidence that Sweetie Pie's gas showed significant improvement when I stopped eating. So I slowly began reintroducing foods back into my diet and all was fine. Until I got to dairy. I had a frozen Trader Joe's pizza and the next morning, at 4 a.m., all hell broke out in Sweetie's wee digestive system. It was horrible. And of course the best way to comfort a miserable child is to breastfeed her, only it's the breastfeeding that's causing the misery and thus we got into a vicious cycle in the morning. I've since re-elminated dairy from my diet and things are better again. But I'm amazed that it appears that somehow I've managed to make my child "scared cow" before she could even know what a cow is. I'm so sorry, Sweetie Pie!