I’ve neglected to explain our formula madness for those watching at home. I wish we’d taken a picture of all of our options provided by the hospital, Sassy and our pediatrician, as we had every formula container known to man in sample sizes. We’ve slowly worked through them all: gentlease, newborn, advanced, soy, sensitive, organic…I can’t even remember all of the different varieties. I in fact even told a friend they’re all about the same and it must be user error. Tess was fine on anything once she stopped using the high calorie stuff. Then Remy tried Similac Alimentum for colicky babies, and within 24 hours he has become a different baby. Shit.

Yes, I just used the “c” word. I’ve been hiding from it, refusing to consider it, and then finally looked it up yesterday and confirmed the worst: Remy is the poster child for colic with his constant cries of pain, scrunched-up legs, bloated belly and world’s most painful gas. That quivering lip, wail of doom through the night, and visible discomfort make it a lock. I still thought,

Maybe it’s just normal infant digestive issues. He’ll settle down.

You know what seems to be settling him down? Alimentum, one of the most expensive formulas on the market. Sigh.

Still, as Dave and I slept in blissful silence last night from 12.30 on, as Remy slowly uncurls those little legs and toots like it’s no big deal, I know we’ll pay anything we can to make him comfortable and let us sleep! We’re not sure it’s the crazy formula, so we’re going to use our sample and then try the last container of Gentlease and see if maybe he’s just growing out of it. Still, I have a feeling we’ve found our solution. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I suppose.

Aside from full-on crawling (yay!!!!), Tess is still off her game. The rash is gone, the smile returns, but she’s still really tired and her appetite hasn’t come back. We’re down to basics over here: a weekend of applesauce and bottles for her, naps and coffee for us. (I’m not totally back to coffee, so maybe we should say coffee for Dave.) All of this was more tolerable with Jess, so we’re taking a deep breath and realizing how lucky we got, having an extra pair of hands and someone with a great laugh for the worst of it. In the meantime, we’re riding it out. And the extra sleep doesn’t hurt one bit. Waking up at 3am to silence, unswaddling Remy and feeding a half-asleep child until he fades back into sleep, feels fresh and peaceful. It lets me revel in his quirky expressions, in his old man sounds (per Jess) and his sweet chubby cheeks and snuggly little body – rather than gritting my teeth at 2:30am and getting up to hold him again until he eats at 3 because I can’t stand the Siren anymore.

I was worried I wasn’t bonding, that I was a bad mom, worn down by the constant, repetitive, grating crying. It’s not true. I was just at my wits’ end and exhausted. Dave felt the same. So this hopefully ushers in a new chapter in the two-kid novel we’re living out over here; a happier, calmer take on the chaos we love and call home.