Here's my advice of the day: Don't wait nearly five years in between children if you're gonna have them. Oh, don't get me wrong, I usually enjoy the age difference between Hethan and Starbuck (whom my little sister has decided should be called Pumba because of her stinkiness...) but after nights like last night, the five additional years on my body is taking its toll.
Starbuck, in case you haven't figured out, has gas issues. We dose her up on Mylicon or the generic stuff, I watch my diet since I'm nursing, I try to burp her frequently. But the poor girl still has issues. She stinks like a grown man and grunts like you would not believe when she's passing gas. Last night was a painfully gassy night for her. Which means that it was a long wakeful night for me. The poor thing is sleeping the whole time she's whimpering in pain, or occasionally, shrieking in pain. I've discovered that she sleeps well on her stomach on my stomach. I think the heat helps. I made her a fleece lined heating pad, but I forget about it at 3 am... So last night, Starbuck and I danced the gas dance all night. Up and down, on my stomach, nursing, rocking, and patting.
When I was 25, I would get up and nurse Hethan enthusiastically, smiling down at his cherubic face as he ate for 45 minutes in the middle of the night. And the next morning, I would wake up and play with him happily. Now at 30, I doze as I nurse Kara and when she wakes up in the morning, I put her in bed with me so that I can cuddle her and sleep for an extra 45 minutes.
I love being a mother. I just hate dancing the gas tango at night.