Not even dad’s chest could help

Yup, it was that level of inconsolable.  The magic chest failed for the first time, as my husband and I spent the hours between 4:30 AM and 6 AM trying to get the small one to go back down. We walked to hallway, we checked and rechecked his diaper, we rocked, we swaddled and reswaddled him, we pleaded, I nursed (and nursed again, and nursed again), my husband sang any song he could think of, we tried bringing him to bed with us, we burped him up to ten times, and I finally think the small one just gave up out of pity, despite the fact that nothing we did gave him any comfort.  For the first time we were completely defeated.

And then, at 6:30 he awoke with a poop so massive, so explosive, I could feel it’s velocity while holding him.  The small one promptly fell into a coma-like sleep at having finally passed his most massive bowel movement ever, and I was forever grateful for his having done so (both for the sleep and for the knowledge that there really was something wrong that we couldn’t fix, and not that we had become completely inept in a mere three weeks of parenthood).

As you can imagine, I am dead to the world today… like just attended a bachelorette party level tired, but with no eye liner remnants on my pillow case.

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