q 4

My day usually involves a lot of gore. Maybe not the kind people see in movie theaters as an excuse to cling to their date, but gore nonetheless. Today I saw at least three shirts ruined, death by baby puke. I changed the most obscene diaper I have ever seen (electric green, runny, and exploded out of the diaper onto a very cute outfit). After this diaper came a bath, during which I had to interrupt a stream of urine with my hand to keep it from going directly onto my baby’s face.

There are very few glamorous things about mothering an infant. Unfortunately, I have an addition to make to my already established list. Yesterday, Colin was diagnosed with thrush, aka oral candidiasis. As for the infection, it is not at all a big deal, another one of those ubiquitous illnesses. But the treatment – I think it is better called a punishment. For me.

Oral nystatin suspension. To be given FOUR TIMES A DAY.

So four times a day (four!) Colin has to suffer through liquid being squirted into his mouth. I say suffering because he screams as if I’m cutting off his head while I’m giving the medicine to him. And then he spits it all out onto me. So, apparently, it wasn’t enough to ruin my shirts with spit-up. We have moved on to nystatin, which stains bright orange. Whee!

Last night, Colin was wearing a really adorable outfit that he had borrowed from the Best Nephew Ever. As I gave him his first dose, unaware of the staining spit up that was coming, I watched in horror as he tongued the stuff around in his mouth and then forcefully hurled it back out onto his outfit. I was mortified. Why hadn’t I thought to take off this outfit that was not ours to mutilate? Then I noticed something: a few orange looking spots. I remembered that the BNE had thrush when he was a baby. Small miracles, people. The outfit had already been anointed with nystatin.