Cute Butt

Patrick must have had some pretty severe teething pain last night. He actually refused to eat, pulling back and screaming while breastfeeding. The big eater that he is, that was highly unusual. He hadn't shown too many teething symptoms most of the day, but Matt and I were hoping that was the problem and treated it as such. The other likely possibilities include acid reflux problems again or tummy problems. He has been spitting up more than usual, something I plan to bring up to his doctor when we go on Thursday, but it is most likely related to the acid reflux and fairly minor. If he was arching his back and refusing to eat earlier because of acid reflux, that is a much more serious problem. That would indicate the medicine has stopped controlling it at all at times during the day. Because Patrick stopped fussing a little while after we gave him teething remedies, however, I'm still inclined to believe that was the problem.

We took a few more pictures of Patrick in a new outfit yesterday. I think all the sports outfits we have in this size are cute, if indicative of wishful thinking. Patrick has no greater likelihood of being a baseball star than his daddy or I did. The genetics just simply aren't there for him to grow into a superstar athlete. Maybe he can grow into a baseball fan, though--still not too likely, but a greater possibility, I suppose.

He found something on the wall above him incredibly captivating. I'm hoping it was Daddy's degrees. I think that's a much more reasonable aspiration for him than the Major League.
And now for what makes this outfit so super cute:

Yup, take a look at that cute butt. Patrick was all too eager to show it off for the camera. For some reason we have numerous outfits with cute butts in this size. I hope his butt continues to be so photogenic for a while. :)

Every night, my last ritual before crawling into bed is giving Patrick his reflux medicine. This used to be a ritual I dreaded. It was stressful keeping track of exactly when he needed his medicine, scheduling it around his meals (it needs to be given no less than half an hour before eating), precisely measuring it, and making sure he drank every drop without spitting up any. For a time, I would have to set an alarm during the night to get up and give it to him. If I didn't predict when he was going to want to eat next, I found myself trying desperately to comfort a screaming, hungry baby during that half an hour after the medicine and before the meal. I was desperate for when he would outgrow the reflux, and with it his medicine.

Now, though, I look forward to that time each night when I creep into his room after he has fallen asleep to give him his medicine. The schedule of meals and medicine has grown much more flexible (or I have anyway), so what used to cause stress is now merely a routine. Now I love that moment before giving him the medicine when I can just watch him sleep. I love watching him barely wake up when I touch him, as he flings an arm blindly in my direction when I ease his pacifier into his mouth--and then he gives up, accepting the pacifier and the medicine willingly. I love the way the pacifier falls from his mouth after he's swallowed all the medicine and he starts to fall back asleep. There is something so peaceful about him when he sleeps. During the day, I exclaim over all his new accomplishments and how big he's growing and how he's maturing in his interactions with us. Yet in that moment of sleep, when I find him so alone and tiny in that big crib, he is suddenly my baby again. His features may have changed some, but he might as well be exactly as he was when he was first placed in my arms. I can see how truly tiny and vulnerable he is once again. There is just something about the peace of sleep and the way a baby will submit itself to the sleep with reckless abandon that reminds us all of its innocence and youth. At that moment each night, I treasure the quiet time with my helpless baby and pray that I can always protect him from anything that can steal that look of innocence from his sweet face.

I know that years from now, long after the reflux medicine routine has become obsolete, I will still sneak into Patrick's room late at night, just to watch him sleep. No matter how grown up he has become, in that moment he will revert back to being my sweet, sleeping baby.