The Next 72...

... hours of Ryan's life were the pit of despair for his parents. We were operating on little sleep anyway, but every day since we've been home his episodes of massive screaming crying anger, complete with swinging fists and pumping feet, got worse until we drove like bats out of hell to the emergency room Thursday night. We thought Ryan was going to crawl out of his skin.

Don't worry. He's fine. He has loving parents who, possibly, overreacted.

On the sofa after eating a big meal on Saturday

But this blog post's alternate title is, "Lactation consultants can kiss my butt." (This is a family blog. In conversation I would use another word for butt, and y'all know it.)

The saga goes like this: On Thursday morning we took him to the pediatrician for his first well-baby check, where we learned he had lost a pound since birth. Losing weight since birth is common, since the baby's only food is the beginnings of colostrum and Ryan and I were terrible dancing partners for those first few days. Hunter and I also were concerned that other aspects of Ryan's tiny anatomy weren't working quite right, since he wasn't going through nearly as many diapers as he was supposed to.

Maddie reacting to some of Ryan's more pungent toots

But the morning of the pediatrician appointment, my milk came in, so the doctor wasn't worried. Everything else about him was good. Very little jaundice, lusty crying, etc. That afternoon, we saw the lactation consultant and Ryan latched on like he'd been doing it for years. Show-off.

Hunter feeding Ryan with a syringe at the lactation appointment. This comes in handy later

Of course, as soon as we got home things started to slide. He wouldn't latch, so he couldn't eat, and the angry crying began during dinner and didn't stop for hours. That evening we called the pediatrician, and he agreed that that the cause might be hunger or abdominal pressure because the kid hadn't pooped, and he suggested trying to supplement with formula and trying to stimulate some of his abdominal muscles by taking his temperature rectally. We tried both, no dice, so off to the E.R. we went.

The folks there were great, and took us in immediately, and during an assessment of his symptoms they took his temperature rectally too with a massive amount of lubricating jelly. About five minutes later Ryan's bowels sprung into action, then while we waited for the E.R. doctor he nursed.

Waiting to go home

Final diagnosis, according to the discharge paperwork? "Fussy baby."

Maddie reading Ryan a story during a less fussy time earlier this week

We came home and had a hard night with more angry crying, though less than before since he did eat a little more. Friday found me on the phone with my girlfriends Kelly and Marce, and to my Mom, weeping and begging for help.

Marce went to Babies R Us and snagged three or four infant bottles, pacifiers and nipple shields. Kelly delivered them and a ton of supportive advice since her son had latching problems, too. My mom already had booked a flight and will be here Monday, but in the meantime she talked me off the ledge in that way I admire most about her. She knows kids, and understands them, and that includes her 32-year-old daughter.

Things are better now. I fed him breastmilk through a syringe on Friday morning, then he nursed regularly Friday afternoon and had several good diaper changes. Friday night was so much better it's hard to put it into words, but we had something resembling a routine (after Hunter's midnight run to the drugstore for baby gas medicine). Hunter is so amazing at calming him, I can only watch and admire. Saturday was even better, since we're feeding him more and more.

Before the pregnancy it seems like all I read about are the 1,000 steps to take to make breastfeeding successful, and the lactation people are all about 1,000 things not to do to sabotage your efforts ... like using bottles, pacifiers and nipple shields. And all I have to say to that is, no one is going to stand in my house and watch my baby scream with anger at not being fed and then deny me a single tool to fix it, because I want results, not philosophy.

We now have tools, brought to me by my girlfriends who have been there and used the tools, and the books that advise against them are rapidly heading toward the recycle bin.

If I don't hurl them at the lactation consultant first.

Everyone catches a nap whenever possible