Spit-up in my Git-up

Recently, Max has had a problem with gas and spitting up. Not a serious problem, but sometimes burps awaken him from perfectly good naps and he seems to insist on waiting to spit up until we have decided he is not going to spit up and have put away the burp cloth, thereby leaving our clothes unprotected.

Usually, burping him on the shoulder was the most effective way to go. The pressure of a chest against his stomach seemed to force the burp out. However, now he has discovered his ability to hold his head up! And move it! And use both hands to yank different sections of mom’s hair as if they were reins with his drooly, spit-up covered hands! (I am probably going to have to give in and cut off my hair. I spend way too much time removing his little hands from my hair everyday and it hurts too much when he pulls it. I know it’s time for a change when I am shying away from my baby putting his arms around my neck due to fear of pain inflicted by his chubby, dimpled, vise-like hands.)

He has discovered he can turn his head to the side and lean back down towards my breast while I am attempting to burp him. I have become resigned to the fact that, at some point, he is going to puke on my face while planting his drooly, open mouth on my cheek during burping sessions. It did not occur to me until just before it happened that he would puke on my breasts, his food source. But he did. Right down the cleavage. Dead center. And I calmly wiped it up with a burp cloth and went on with my day.

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Proud legacy

Today, my three and a half month old son laughed when he passed gas and almost rolled over for the first time while trying to get a better view of the TV. Oh, yes, he is definitely my son.

Later tonight, he did roll over for the first time (front to back), but luckily, the television was not involved.

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