I'm becoming "that mom"

On our first trip to the pediatrician, she said, "Dad, you are not Gwen's doctor.  Mom, you are not her dietitian.  If you come in with vital signs and a diagnosis I'm not going to be happy.  Just be her parents."  I'm getting ready to call at 8:30 when they open with a possible diagnosis.

It is 5:30.  I am awake and blogging because I think there is something wrong with my little girl.  The pediatrician blames me for her behavior.  "The only reason that she wakes up all the time is because you feed her every time she wakes up."  Maybe.  Or maybe there is an underlying reason that makes her wake up that has taught her to wake up and want food.  At G's 4 month appointment the doctor told me to stop feeding her to sleep and to stop feeding her every time she woke up.  Granted, I was doing that because when she woke up for the fifth time in the night it was easier to feed her to get her to go back to sleep quickly than to walk with her for 30 minutes while she cried.

I have stopped feeding her to sleep.  She put up a fuss, but she was somewhat amenable to it.  It took a few days adjustment, but she is willing to fall asleep, often, with me just rubbing her tummy.  (I was unwilling to leave her to just cry as the doctor recommended.  If you disagree with this then we have wildly different parenting philosophies, and trust me, you're not going to change my mind.  If the only solutions are to wake up and feed her or let her cry it out I will choose waking up 10 times out of 10).  I, however, have been unable to get her to go back to sleep without feeding her.  The other night, I walked 5000 steps (all I could think to do in my delirious, sleep-deprived state with a wailing infant on my shoulder was to count steps) trying to get her to go back to sleep without eating.  2000 steps is about 1 mile.  That means I walked 2.5 miles.  She would go back to sleep for a couple of minutes, but would wake up, inevitably, within 5 minutes.  She was fast asleep.  Why was she waking up?  Because of the criticisms that I have been receiving, I took this as a failure of my parenting as well as the persistence of my baby.  But if she wasn't hungry, why did she insist on eating?  Finally, after 2 hours of fighting with her, I fed her since, if she wasn't hungry when we started the process, she was likely hungry since it had been 3.5 hours since last eating.

Yesterday at church someone suggested that I take G to the doctor and ask about reflux.  I had thought of this a while back, but very few babies have reflux.  Those that do have reflux tend to have trouble gaining weight, and if you know G you know she has had no trouble gaining weight - she was the 5th percentile for weight when she was born and now she is the 90th.  But I thought that it wouldn't hurt to do a little bit of research.  What I found was that babies with reflux either undereat or overeat.  The overeaters overeat because milk acts as a natural antacid (if you have ever had heartburn and felt better after drinking a glass of milk, then you know what I'm talking about).  While milk makes you feel better, it also causes more problems because it is full of proteins that increase acid production which makes the problem worse.  Furthermore, she has been overeating to the point that her tummy it too full and she spits up.  This is probably also uncomfortable for her because if her tummy has too much acid in it then her spit ups are also likely acidic.

I called a pediatric resident friend of ours yesterday and described G's symptoms.  I have already been "That mom" at the pediatrician a few times.  I thought G had a UTI once, an ear infection another time. I have brought her in several times for her diaper rash, worried because it has stuck around for over 3 months now (every time she looks at it and tells me that it is just "Butt burn" from poop).  I didn't want to be "that mom" again, so I thought I would check with Nate to see if what I was thinking was reasonable.  He agreed - we might as well try G on a trial of Zantac if our pediatrician agrees (Zantac is the least invasive way to "test" for reflux - if the med works then you assume the baby has it, if it doesn't then you assume that they don't; other tests involve going under anaesthesia which, as you can imagine, causes all sorts of problems).  If our pediatrician does not agree I'm finding a different pediatrician.  I'm not hell bent on giving my baby medicine.  But my instinct tells me that something is wrong and I think that we need to at least try this before we all assume that it is my coddled parenting approach.  Here is the evidence that I believe points to reflux:

1. Unwillingness to go back to sleep without eating, even after being put into a deep sleep by other means of soothing.  If she is having reflux, it would flare up again right after laying her down causing her to wake up again and be unable to go back to sleep fully without eating.
2. Butt burn - the pediatrician said that I leave G in her dirty diapers too long.  She was pooping 12 times a day for a long time (I gave her rice a couple of days ago and she only pooped twice yesterday!) but I would change her diaper immediately.  The diaper rash still looked horrible.  Overproduction of acid in her tummy would cause really bad diaper rash if it traveled through her GI tract too rapidly.
3. Back arching - G used to arch her back constantly.  The lactation consultants said that it might be reflux, but at that point I had an overactive letdown that was choking G every time she ate, so we had bigger fish to fry.  She stopped arching her back when she ate, and I thought she had stopped arching her back completely...until this morning.  I started writing this post at 5:30 in the morning.  I woke up to a wimpering baby who was too exhausted to wake up fully but too miserable to sleep fully.  She was arching her back.  I used to think that she was just fighting to get out of her swaddler, but since Nate asked me about back arching I am looking at this movement in a new light.  She was obviously arching her back.  What did I do?  I let her take a few swigs and lay on my lap for a minute and she stopped arching her back.  I have also noticed that she hates being in her Bumbo chair.  I thought she was trying to escape her chair by arching her back, but now I believe that she was in pain and trying to lengthen her esophagus.  Sitting in the Bumbo would be one of the worst positions for a baby with reflux - it would force the acid up the esophagus quite forcefully.
4. Fussiness - I know some babies are just fussy.  But G is unusually fussy.  She has about 1 good, happy hour each day.  The doctor told me that G just has colic and will grow out of it.  I experienced colic.  This isn't colic.  She is much happier than she was with colic, but she still is on the verge of crying most of the day.  This would match up more closely with reflux than colic anyway - babies with colic tend to do most of their crying at night.  Not only does she probably not feel good, but she also is likely exhausted.  Babies with reflux tend to get woken up with reflux (which, from personal experience, as an adult with reflux, is very unpleasant; it is very difficult to go back to sleep if you have acid in your esophagus).  I have tried so many things to optimize her sleeping, but she just can't seem to sleep.  Once again, the pediatrician says this is my fault.
5. Positioning - G is happiest standing up and in her snugli carrier.  She hates sitting and laying down.  I thought this was because she liked constant attention and being entertained.  Now I think that she likes standing because it keeps the stomach acid down.  I started carrying her in the snugli several hours a day because I read that fussy babies do well with attachment parenting (one part of which is wearing your baby).  She hates all baby carriers except for the snugli.  I think this may be because she is curled up or reclining in most of the carriers, but her body is completely stretched out in the snugli.  I read online that many babies with reflux do much better in carriers.
6. Going from 0 to scream in 1 second flat - G has the uncanny ability to go from being happy and smiling to screaming with no warning.  When she was younger people would tell me she had gas pains.  I doubted this, but had no idea what could make my little girl change mood so suddenly.  I finally decided that it was that she just had mood swings.  She knew what she wanted and if I wasn't providing it (like removing her from her jumperoo so she could play with her light up snail, or standing her up when she no longer wanted to sit) I thought she was just exuberantly letting me know.  Now I believe that she is having reflux pains.  I think that perhaps when the stomach acid flares up she goes from being happy to being in pain.
7. Spitting up - G spits up about 20 times a day.  I don't change her outfit each time she spits up.  If the spit up is minor, I wipe it up.  I also keep her in a bib much of the time so I can just swap it out for a new one.  She usually has a big enough spit up that misses her bib and hits her outfit causing her to need a new outfit about 4 times a day.  This is a bit of a nuisance, but I try to look at the silver lining of this cloud.  Keith would resist me buying so many cute clothes for G, but we actually need to have a closet chocked full of outfits or she would be naked after about 3 days from spitting up and pooping on everything (while her cloth diapers don't leak often, you inevitably get some leaks when there are 12 poops a day).  The part that bothers me now is that this might be another indication of reflux.  It is obvious that her food is escaping her stomach.  If she has overly acidic stomach contents, it is also burning her on its way up.  Our pediatric resident friend asked if she seemed to be fussier when she spit up.  This is difficult to answer.  She spits up a lot.  She is fussy a lot.  Do these things happen at the same time?  Yes.  Could it be coincidence?  Yes.  Maybe.  But I don't really know.

So I am going into the pediatrician today (they had better give me an appointment) with a diagnosis.  I know this is what she told me not to do.  But I have knowledge.  Furthermore, I know how to intelligently collect information.  The diagnosis makes sense.  And really, the only way to know if G has reflux is to just try medication.

I don't know if I hope G has reflux or if I hope she doesn't have reflux.  On the one hand, if she has reflux, medication can fix many of her problems.  Also, the pediatrician and some other people who have been telling me that I spoil Gwen might get off my case.  But that also means that I left her reflux untreated for 4 months.  On the other hand, if she does not have reflux, it means that she doesn't have a medical condition and does not need to take medication.  It also means that I have no idea why she is so fussy or how to stop it.

I guess if she gets a prescription for Zantac we will know the verdict very shortly.  From what Nate told me, the trial of medication is 6 weeks, however you usually notice improvements within the first week. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

The Kangaroos on the bus go jump, jump, jump?

I had the pleasure of observing Keith do Gwen's bedtime ritual tonight.  I have been responsible for all of bedtime for the last week since Keith was working 5 pm - 7 am at the hospital.  I have been a part of bedtime in at least some way for the past month or two.  G started getting really fussy and often rejected her nighttime bottle, so mommy had to step in pretty often to feed her straight from the tap.  Tonight was the first night in quite some time that Keith did all of bedtime.

G's favorite song is Wheels on the Bus.  As you can imagine, that song can get pretty boring for anyone over the age of 3.  I spent about 4 hours one day last week singing Wheels on the Bus because G was so distraught.  Because of this, I have taken some liberties with the song.  I tell her how the blinker on the bus goes left then right.  I tell her that the driver on the bus says hello and goodbye.  I even insert G into the song by telling her that the Gwenie's on the bus are cute as can be.  But I don't quite take the liberties that Keith takes.  While I didn't hear his entire rendition of Wheels on the Bus, here is what I did hear:

The Kangaroos on the bus go jump, jump, jump
Jump, jump, jump
Jump, jump, jump
The Kangaroos on the bus go jump, jump, jump
All through the town

The thieves on the bus will pick your pockets
Pick your pockets
Pick your pockets
The thieves on the bus will pick your pockets
All through the town

The hipsters on the bus listen to their iPods*
Listen to their iPods
Listen to their iPods
The hipsters on the bus listen to their iPods
All through the town

The black people on the bus don't sit in the back
Don't sit in the back
You can thank Rosa Parks for that**
The black people on the bus don't sit in the back
All through the town

The doggies on the bus go bark, bark, bark***
Bark, bark, bark
Bark, bark, bark
The doggies on the bus go bark, bark, bark
All through the town

The monkeys on the bus say, "Bananas, please!
Bananas, please!
Bananas, please!"
The monkeys on the bus say, "Bananas, please!"
All through the town

*Dear Keith: It is 2012.  While you do not willingly own an iPod (but are forced to carry an iPod touch for work), and avoid Apple products because they are somewhat incompatible with our PC world, people other than hipsters listen to music on iPods.
**I think Keith inserted this verse because he enjoys history and wants G to know as much about history as possible.  Keith had to take a break at this point in the song because G started to cry.  He informed me that it was because she was quite upset that it took so long for our nation to recognize the civil liberties of African Americans.  This verse was my favorite.  It was creative while still fitting in with the bus theme.
***At this point I think Keith couldn't remember if he was singing Wheels on the Bus or Old MacDonald.

My Sharpei Baby

Sharpei: a very wrinkly dog.  Pictured below for reference.

Notice that I entitled this post "My Sharpei Baby" and not "My Baby Sharpei."  This was intentional.  I meant for Sharpei to be an adjective and baby to be a noun.  The reason for this is that I do not own a baby sharpei.  I own a very fluffy poodle.  But this post isn't about him either.  This post is about my little baby girl, Gwen.  This is a picture of her that I took today.

I call her a sharpei baby because she has tons of rolls, much like a sharpei.  Note the deep wrist rolls.  Also see the ankle rolls (or should I say cankle?).  See all of the texture on her legs.  That is not a trick of the camera.  That is the beginning of cellulite.  Her leg rolls would be more pronounced, but she is wearing a cloth diaper that somewhat hides her chunky thighs.

This is a picture of her from a couple of days ago.  As you can see, she has rolls at her armpits and on her torso.  

Here you can see her amazingly squeezable, chunky cheeks.  If you try to squeeze them, you would discover that they are actually quite firm because they are packed so full of chunk.

If you had any doubts about the extent of her chunky legs, look at this picture.

I love her chunkiness.  I find her absolutely adorable.  I love adorable, roley poly babies.  While she has the core strength, I think, to sit up at this point, her belly is too big for her to reach forward and balance herself with her arms.  I find that to be so freakin' cute and endearing!  

But the one thing that I don't find endearing is cleaning her sharpei rolls.  I heard from someone, somewhere (and have no idea if it is true or not) that you have to clean between the rolls on sharpeis because if you do not the rolls will get infected.  The same is true with babies.  Gwen has not gotten any infections because I am vigilant about cleaning each and every roll each and every night at bath time.  However, how do you fit a washcloth between her shoulders and chin?

I face this challenge every single day.  And she does not do anything to make it any easier on me.  This has become increasingly important since she started eating solids.

I make her wear a bib.  I wipe her down with a wash cloth after each meal.  But, let's face it: she's not very good at eating yet.  About 97% of the food ends up running down her face and onto her body.

Before she started eating solids I would discover the occasional crumb in her neck folds (mommy or daddy apparently ate a snack messily while holding her).  But now I discover large amounts of pureed fruits and veggies in there.  I lifted up a neck fold yesterday a couple of hours after she ate and found an entire line of sweet potato.  It's not that I didn't clean her.  I wiped and wiped, but how did she get sweet potato on the back of her neck?!?!  I wiped under her chin.  I wiped her shoulders.  I even wiped off her back.  But the back neck fold?  I guess I either need to be more careful feeding her in the future, or I need to do a 360 degree cleaning.

Until her height catches up to her weight I guess I will have to clean her like the little sharpei puppy that she is.  (She started as the 7th percentile for both weight and height and is now, somehow, the 90th percentile for weight while only the 50th for height.  That makes her the 90th percentile weight for height.  I know how she made that jump, actually.  She eats her feelings.)  And, also, I'll continue referring to her by her sumo wrestler name: Gwenihito.

The story of how I slept through my last final in college

There are two things you need to know for this story.  1.) Entering my final semester of college I had a 4.0 and was on track to be valedictorian of my graduating class.  2.) I was able to achieve these grades through a mix of dedication and caffeine.

When I started college I hated coffee.  We had a coffee shop on campus.  I liked hanging out there with my friends, but I would only partake in hot cocoa.  After a few months I branched out to vanilla chai.  I was constantly exhausted, however, and I decided that I was going to MAKE myself like coffee beverages.  I didn't know anything about any coffee drinks, however, so on my first conference trip during my second year of college, I decided to branch out and try several drinks.  Anyone who has attended a conference knows that lots of drinking goes on.  I, however, went to a Christian university with a no alcohol rule, so while the other attendees went to the scientist mixers, I hung out with one professor and two schoolmates who were coffee addicts connoisseurs.  I dove in first trying a carmel machiato (not a great choice for someone who didn't like the taste of coffee), and finally settled on lattes and mochas.  I also discovered the frappe, a seemingly magical blend of coffee and milkshake like dessert.

By the first semester of my junior year, I was taking the most challenging course load of my college career.  I also knew that at the end of that school year, I would have to take the MCAT, the standardized test that determines where you can realistically be accepted to medical school.  I increased my caffeine intake accordingly.  I also realized that if I kept on buying lattes I would run out of money in my account quickly.  However, coffee was only $1.00!  And, if I used my own cup or reused my paper cup it was only $0.50!!!  Plus, I figured, if I added enough cream and sugar it would almost be like drinking a latte.  Because my study schedule was so demanding (and I also chose that year to be in leadership positions in 3 student organizations), I started to drink my coffee black.  You may be thinking, "That action does not logically follow."  You would be wrong.  There was always a line to add cream and sugar to coffee.  By foregoing these extravagances I was able to shave about a minute off of my time in line each time I filled up my cup.  This was usually 5 or 6 times a day.  You do the math.

Senior year of college, I had taken the MCAT and my courses had eased up slightly, but I was in the midst of applying to medical school.  I also got somewhat obsessed with learning to bake that year, and would sometimes blow off some of the steam of studying and applying to schools by baking cheesecakes (junior year I struggled to make cookies from a prepackaged tube of dough, so if you have ever enjoyed one of my cheesecakes you can thank senior year and the baking guidance of one of my professors).  This meant that I needed to continue with little sleep and excessive caffeine.  I would generally sleep 4.5 to 5 hours each night.  That same year, a convenience store opened on campus.  How is this significant?  They sold no-doz.  Not only did they sell no-doz, but I could use my meal plan points to purchase the no-doz.  I figued out that it only cost 3 points to buy no-doz.  This would be equivalent to 3-6 cups of coffee.  Each no-doz pill contained as much caffeine as a cup of coffee.  There were more than 6 pills in each bottle.  Thus, no-doz was a better deal.  Plus, I didn't have to pee nearly as much.  Growing up with Zack, Kelly, Screech, Lisa, Slater and Jessie, I knew that no-doz was no joke ("I'm so, I'm so...scared.")  So I made sure that I was consuming no more caffeine than I had previously from coffee alone.  This level of caffeine and sleep often led to headaches.  My friend Jeremy would sometimes make me a "cocktail" of ibuprofen and no-doz (both were necessary to get rid of headaches).  The biggest coffee mistake that I made was the night that I had a caffeine headache from consuming too much caffeine.  I decided to try to knock my headache out with an excedrine.  Anyone who has read the label of excedrine knows why that was a bad idea.

As you can tell, I often overcommitted, expected too much of myself, and was not dedicated to healthy living.  But this combination led to me entering my final semester of college with a 4.0 (which I believe is the reason that I got into the MD/PhD program at OSU...they were applying for a grant and were looking for people to bring up their average GPA and MCAT scores; I met Keith in the MD/PhD program at OSU, so I believe that my marriage and now our child stem from my caffeine intake in college).  I felt quite a bit of pressure to keep this GPA.  One of my med school interviewers said, "You'd better not screw that up."  Yeah.  Encouraging.  Right?  I wasn't super worried.  I was taking one science class pass/fail and then some gen eds.  I had put off taking my literature courses until the very end, so my final semester I took world literature and C.S. Lewis.

And this brings us to that ill-fated final: C.S. Lewis.  C.S. Lewis class was taught by a woman named Marge Elder.  Yes, she is as old as her name sounds.  I believe she started teaching at the university right after WWII.  I'm not joking.  She really did.  1946.  You can look it up.  She was a sweet little old lady who invited me over to her retirement village to look at her book collection and eat cookies one time.  And this class was a cakewalk.  All you had to do was read a bunch of C.S. Lewis books (an author whose writing I enjoyed), discuss the books in class, and write a couple of short papers (2 pages or less).  All you had to do for the final was show up and read the 1 page final paper that you wrote.  I had already gotten A's in all of my other classes, so I wasn't sweating my C.S. Lewis final.  All I had to do was show up and read a paper I had already written.  Piece of cake.  In hindsight, I made a poor choice in staying up late to pack up my dorm room (yes, I still lived in a dorm my last year of college).  I also did not supplement with caffeine.  I ended up going to bed in the middle of the night thinking, "All I have to do is read 1 page out loud tomorrow and I'm home free!"  Imagine my surprise when I awoke the next morning with my friend Brittany's face inches from mine.  Brit took C.S. Lewis class with me.  She said, "Why weren't you in class?  You missed the final!  Dr. Elder wanted to know where you were."  Instead of exchanging pleasantries, I threw on whatever non-matching clothes were strewn across my floor and ran across campus in the rain to Dr. Elder's office.  I apologized a thousand times for missing the final.  But how do you make up a final that was solely based on listening to other people read their 1-page papers and then discussing what they wrote?  Thankfully, I had worked hard (meaning I participated in class discussions the entire semester and was a nice girl who was willing to visit an old woman in her retirement village for cookies and old books), and I explained to her that I had a 4.0 and that if she failed me for this final I would no longer have a 4.0, and that would be a great shame since I was set to graduate as one of the valedictorians in just a couple of days.  I then came up with a plan.  No, I couldn't participate in a class discussion.  But would it be okay if I read her my paper and then sat in her office and read every one of my classmates' papers? She said yes.  So I slept through my last final, but she gave me an A anyway.  I was able to have my cake and eat it too (sorry about that.  I had already used 2 references to cake in this paragraph and felt the need to round it out with a third).  This post is dedicated to you, Dr. Elder.  Thank you for having grace on me for my last final of college.

The tale of Keith and the cheesy puff dog treats

Simba got groomed on Thursday night.  This might not sound like a big deal, but I was quite distressed.  When we took him to the groomers two times ago, he got cut by the scissors.  The cut went through his skin and his subcutaneous fat (which is only a couple of millimeters thick).  We could see his muscle through a thin layer of fascia.  He had to get the wound stapled shut.  Needless to say, we did not go back to that groomer.  He went to the groomer again in December.  This time we decided to take him to the groomer at the vet.  We chose this option because we didn't know where to take him and we figured that, at the very least, if they cut him they would pay to fix him (unlike when I had to pay $150 after his previous grooming experience).  Simba had been out of sorts because he had spent over 3 weeks away from our house at grandma and grandpa's while I was on bed rest.  After that, a teeny tiny baby had claimed space on his turf and taken away much of the attention previously paid to him.  We thought that having a new haircut would make him feel better, but we were wrong.  The groomer asked that we bring him in at 7:00 am.  She also decided that she would cut his hair last.  We didn't get to pick him up until 5:00 pm.  10 hours is a long time to be in a cage.  He came home more depressed than he had been before his trip to the groomer.

On top of my guilt over his last two trips to the groomer, I have felt guilty about ignoring Simba since Gwen was born.  I think he has a touch of poodle depression.  When I dropped him off at Petsmart (there was no way I was going to take him back to the groomer at the vet and make him stay in a cage for 10 hours), he put his tail down and gave me a look like I was betraying his fragile trust.  He had been so excited to go for a ride in the car before he realized the final destination.  This was especially difficult for his poodle psyche because the baby was with us in the car, and, while I left him at the groomer, she got to go home with me.  Because of the crushing guilt, I walked out of the grooming salon and went straight to the squeaky toy aisle.  I followed that up with a trip to the doggy treat aisle.  (I am convinced that the reason that Petsmart hosts a grooming salon and veterinary clinic is so that guilt purchases, like this, can be made).  I walked out of Petsmart with a moose squeaky toy and a canister of "cheese puff" dog treats.

I was glad for my purchases when I arrived back at the groomer and Simba was yelping as they plucked his ears.  I was even more thankful when they showed me where they cut him with the clippers.  He was so happy to get in the car and escape the torture that he completely ignored the dog treats and toy on the way home.  When we stepped into the house, he ate his treat and started to destroy his new toy.

Keith noticed the canister of new treats while I was in the living room playing with Simba.  "These treats look like cheesy puffs."

"I know.  I bought them because Simba likes when you feed him cheese puffs.  I was halfway tempted to taste one to see if they really taste like cheese puffs."

"I just did.  They aren't very good."  I can't say I was shocked that my husband ate a dog treat just because it looked like a cheese puff.  He buys the 2 foot tall "barrels" of cheese puffs from Sam's club and eats them in 1-2 weeks.

The next day I noticed a plate in our refrigerator with about a quarter of a cup of peanut butter smeared on it.  Keith was at work, so I had to wait until that night to find out what it was for.

"Honey, why is there a plate of peanut butter in the refrigerator?"

"I couldn't find any snacks that I wanted so I thought I would just eat peanut butter."  This isn't surprising.  Since we are trying to sell our house, I have been doing my best to clean out the pantry and all of the cupboards, so we are fairly low on our snack supply.  I did wonder, however, why Keith didn't: A.) just eat a spoonful of peanut butter (he said he was hungrier than that), or B.) put the peanut butter on something (for example: a piece of bread, which we have).

Jokingly I said, "You could have just had some doggy cheesy puffs."

"I did eat a couple before I decided on the peanut butter.  I still don't think they taste very good."

Yes.  This is the man I chose to marry.

$856

$856.  That is how much I will spend on diaper rash cream this year if I continue to use it at the current rate.  G has had diaper rash now for about 3 months (which is pretty impressive, in a bad way, since she turned 4 months old yesterday).  It's not just normal diaper rash.  It is bright red with open sores.  Her bottom has bled before (thankfully, because of the cream, it is no longer bleeding).  It looks horribly uncomfortable.  Occasionally, her skin will heal most of the way.  The sores heal over, and the redness diminishes.  But at those times I am saddened because her skin stretches in an unnatural way.  I think she may end up with scars.

I have tried everything that I can think of to get rid of diaper rash.  I have used several different types of diaper rash cream (Burt's Bees, California Baby, Bummis, Triple Paste, Pinxav, Boudreaux's Butt Paste - both 16% and 40% zinc oxide, Desitin Max Strength, a mix of Aqauphor and Maalox).  I even used a tube of colostomy cream and colostomy powder.  The nurses at the hospital where Keith works like to hear about the baby.  One of the nurses is very concerned by G's diaper rash and shared that information with the skin care nurse.  The skin care nurse gave Keith the colostomy cream and powder with written out instructions and a promise that the diaper rash would be gone within 48 hours.  At the end of 48 hours, G had open sores.  While it didn't work, it was very nice of the hospital staff to pilfer colostomy care materials for our baby.  The only cream that has worked in any way is Boudreaux's Butt Paste Maximum Strength.  While it has not healed her bottom, it has helped to keep the open sores away...for the most part.

I have tried many other tricks that people have told us are "guaranteed" to get rid of diaper rash: cloth diapers, cloth wipes, soap, running G's bottom under water with each diaper change, letting her have diaper free time, using a hair dryer with each changing to make sure her bottom is extra dry, etc.  So far, all I have really accomplished it getting poop on my hair dryer.  The only thing that really seems to work is diaper free time, but there are many obstacles preventing that from happening.  First, I am trying to get G to nap well.  She tends to only want to nap between 35 and 55 minutes at a time.  Unless she has a good solid 1.5 hour nap, however, she gets hysterical by the end of the day (usually much earlier and several times).  This means that I need to be vigilant about getting her to nap on time and about jumping up at the first sound of her waking to nurse her back to sleep for nap round 2.  Sometimes I will just take a nap with her so she can eat immediately upon waking and fall back asleep. Second, she spends much of the day inconsolable if I set her down more than a few minutes at a time.  This means that I am either carrying her, holding her on my lap, or lugging her around in a carrier most of the day.  This creates a very messy diaper-free situation.  I sometimes try to carry her around without a diaper, but have found that this usually results in me being covered in a variety of substances.

I really wanted to wait until G was 6 months old to introduce solids.  I wanted her to be exclusively breastfed.  But that changed somewhere around 2 months of diaper rash.  Now I just want her to not poop 10-12 times a day.  I have decided to view solid food not as food but as a magical medication that has the ability to slow poo and maybe allow us to spend less than 5% of our annual income on diaper rash cream.