Whilst this post is less likely to amuse than many I have written, I think that it is important that I let you know what is happening with regards to our little bundle of reflux joy. If you have not read “Please, just make it stop!” then this may not make a great deal of sense, so apologies. In a nutshell, our latest addition, who is now on the cusp of turning four months, had terrible reflux, and despite the best efforts of his Mum and Dad, assorted health professionals, and numerous others, he steadfastly refused to sleep for any length of time, due in part to the discomfort in his tummy and throat, and the fact was projectile vomiting every five minutes. This was leading to two very sleep deprived parents and an especially irritable Dad so I would like to say sorry to anyone reading this, who may have incurred my uncharacteristic wrath. I can’t be held responsible for my actions (although technically my actions resulted in the pickle we found ourselves in).
Many people during the especially hideous days, told us not to worry and that he would grow out of it. To those of you who did, I owe you my most profuse apologies. Whenever someone said that to me, although on the outside I was all smiles and nods (and just that once tears and shudders), inside I was shouting the worst profanities imaginable. Again, it’s not really my fault.
But, if that was you, you have the rare pleasure of telling me “I told you so” as now one of two things has happened.
JoJo is getting or has got better. He is now a healthy little lad who seems to find a lot to smile about. He loves being talked to by anyone and everyone, and makes lots of lovely cooing noises, while looking you in the eye. Although he currently doesn’t have the strength to do so, he is very keen to roll over and seems to be frustrated by his lack of mobility. So far though, the thing he really excels at is dribbling. Even though he is almost always wearing a bib, he needs to be changed almost hourly. To be fair though, this is to be expected, after all, he is a baby, and probably more significantly he is my son. I am reluctant to become too complacent though, as, in my experience, the only thing which is predictable about babies, is that they are unpredictable. Murphy’s law dictates that if I announce that he’s cured, he will relapse in truly spectacular style, and that is not a road I want to travel down again.
That isn’t to say that he is sleeping through the night. He categorically is not. The industrial strength black bags under my eyes are testament to that. Now though, as a rule once he’s asleep he does stay there for several hours at a time.
He and I do still, on occasion, put on some rock music and turn it all the way up to eleven, but these episodes, are becoming less frequent. Mrs L. certainly is rather pleased by this turn of events. She is glad that the sounds of percussion, bass and guitars are disturbing her less, and thinks that young Jonah’s ear drums have taken quite enough of a pounding for one life time already. For my part though, I am a little disappointed. I would imagine that it’s pretty unusual for a Father and Son to have a shared interest at such an early age. And I was just getting to know the nice people from the council’s noise abatement unit, on first name terms.
There is a pretty good chance that I am just getting used to his night time antics, and am able to sleep though his caterwauling much better. I am still disturbed by him, but as a general rule that doesn’t happen before 4 or 5 in the morning. If you are a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that, according to my daughter at least, I need as much beauty sleep as I can get, so this is still a long, long way from being ideal. But having seen the improvement in him recently, I am certain that sometime in the not too distant future he will be able to sleep for 12 hours straight. In the meantime, I’ve discovered that those foam earplugs are really rather comfortable.