The gas crisis.

I used to think that a gas crisis was when I had to pay over $2 per gallon for fuel. Now I know better. The true gas crisis?

Baby flatulence.

Baby gas is no joke. At its best, baby gas gets you a disgusting, barfed on shirt and a stinky bedroom. At its worst it gets you an all nighter of banshee style wailing. The Sadester has been suffering from really bad gas lately and it's KILLING me. I've resigned myself to the fact that we are a long way from sleeping through the night, but the gas turns a typical 2 wake night into a 6 wake night.

I feel terrible for her, b/c I know she's in pain but I just want to help the damn kid fart so I can catch some shut eye. And since I'm breastfeeding, I always wind up wracked with guilt; was it the Brie I just housed? God I hope not. The only thing worse than a gassy baby is a life without cheese.

Who knew procuring farts from my child was going to become such an important part of my life? Aaaah, parenthood. Now pull my finger, or better yet, Sadie's.

XOXO,