Apparently, his up and downedness at night seems to have to do with the fact that the once little patches of eczema have turned into a full blown eczema flareup. Bright red splotches all over his face, arms and legs. It is thick and crusty. So beyond the middle of the night puke puddle, he is also itchy as all hell. It's beginning to affect me. I stared at Beezus today and said, "Come on, Sam, pick up your flip-flops please." I watched the dog rolling in the grass the other day and began laughing. Hysterically. Of course, forgetting that that particular action inevitably means there is something dead he is grinding into his fur. I posted the wrong blog entry on the wrong blog the other day. It was madness.
The husband has been greasing Thor up for weeks. Covering his skin with this oily vaseline-like crap that ends up rubbed off on all my clothes and making me feel oooogey. It is like New Jersey is on every inch of my skin. Yuck. There is lint and feathers stuck to my arms. It is unnerving and not helping, apparently. The baby, to be fair, has had a runny nose since he was born, and eczema too. He didn't much complain about it, much like he barely complains of anything, but it has gotten worse. And this nighttime thing is starting to get old. Not to mention that happy Little Buddha has been replaced by Baby Crankcakes for the past couple of days.
"How's my little man? Hi, Thor. Hi. Hi."
"Smiles for Mama, Thor. Smiles for Mama."
"How about some kicks, little man?"
One lone squawk. Something needs to be done for the kid.
It could be a few things, I suppose. Obviously, he has inherited my shitty hyper-allergic immune system. I had asthma as a kid. I am allergic to air for about nine months out of the year, and the stuffiness of winter the other three. There is not much to do about that, because pediatricians will tell you that babies do not have allergies until they are two, or some horse crap. Of that which we will not speak speak is Jack the dog. But first, before getting rid of the dog, I have decided that I need to start looking at my diet.
Last year, at about this time, I went on a raw food fast because I was convinced I was dealing with some hidden food allergy. I was always tired, bloated, not losing weight, bags under my eyes and which at the time as a vegetarian, meant that I could basically eat lettuce. I lost some weight and felt better. Later I found out I had Hashimoto's disease. It sucks ass, having a thyroid disease, but it is manageable. And it also means that I can still chow the pizza. Apparently the raw food diet just made me deliriously goofy from lack of nutrients, so that is why I felt so dang good.
I am looking down the barrel of a similar full elimination diet to the raw food bullshit. This means in all the breastfeeding/torture manuals I have read exactly this:
- no dairy (Sniffle, Cheese, you were my only friend.)
- no soy (Tofu, you can kiss my lard ass. You will not be missed.)
- no wheat (Bread, remember that
yeartime that I ate a whole loaf of you with pesto and fontinella and red wine for dinner. Good times.)
- no eggs (Hard Boiled Egg, I am so sad, Incredible Edible You.)
- no strawberries (Strawberry, you complete me.)
- no tomatoes (It is fucking summer, Universe.)
- no seafood (Sushi, sayonara, my love.)
- no nuts (Peanut, poker will not be the same without you, bro.)
- no wine/beer (Fucking hell, this is just cruel, now.)
Yes, another few weeks of this. Salad already was on my shit list. I have been eating nothing but salad for dinner for months, or possibly years, now. I hate being forced to eat something, even if I would have eaten it anyway. So salad can suck it all over again. Like a depressed cow, I chew my greens over and over and over again, staring into space, pretending it is wine. On the up side, I am daydreaming of early August when I can reintroduce strawberries, or cheese and see if he goes all Grumplestiltskin again.
Someone please tell me bourbon is hypo-allergenic.