Oh, Sweet Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Millie survived her first Lammi Christmas. We went to Iain's folks' house on the 23rd where it was just his parents, us, his sister, her 4 year old son and her boyfriend and his 6 year old daughter. Relatively quiet. Then on to Pennsylvania to brave the masses. Fourteen people, 5 of them under the age of 8. She and I spent a lot of time in the basement playroom and in our bedroom, her sucking her thumb and wondering when the insanity would come to an end. And me doing the same. Kidding. It was wonderful to see everyone and it is that exact chaos I grew up in that made me who I am. Millie just has only (or first) child syndrome. Poor fragile nerves. She screamed for about 3 of the 5.5 hours it took me to come back to Connecticut. The other 2.5 hours was spent nursing, sleeping (a mere 1.5 hours) and with a quick visit with Iain at work. There's only so long a person can "shhhhh shhhhhh" without losing every last ounce of saliva produced. My favorite is the gagging/vomiting sound she was making while I was driving between Jersey barriers with no place to pull over. That was fun.

So, we got home and she had the raging shits a few times and threw up anything I fed her. She refused to nurse (a first for her), cried and cried and cried, and wouldn't sleep (not a first for her). In the midst of her gigantic scream, Iain and I saw a white thing on her gum line. First tooth? At 3.5 months? She's advanced, but THAT advanced? She responded to the Orajel and Tylenol. I took her to the doctor's yesterday in case she had some sort of mouth fungus rather than a tooth and the doctor found NOTHING. That's right. Nothing. Unless my daughter has a fever of 112 or I have accidentally cut her head clear off, I am not calling the pediatrician again. This is the second false alarm in two weeks. Can you spell h-y-s-t-e-r-i-c-a-l m-o-t-h-e-r? Not that I thought she'd die from teething, but I really just wanted to make sure that's what it was and ask how much was too much Orajel. The doctor thinks the whole thing is traced back to overstimulation. PTSD, as it were. That's not what she called it, but that's what it amounts to. Bad mom.

A word about the above pictures. The first is Millie with her cousin Eli, who is 5 weeks younger than her. He was born 3.5 weeks premature and is working his little heart out to grow and grow. He has the cutest little old man half smile that will just make you melt. Millie looks like the Jolly Green Giant next to him. The one next to it is my folks with their 5 grandchildren. Andrea is on my dad's lap (my oldest brother's 1.5 year old), Eli is next to her, Jorge (my oldest brother's 8 year old son) is holding Raquel (my middle brother's 2 year old daughter and sister to said Eli), and mom is holding Millie who had JUST woken up. The other picture is of Eli, Raquel and Millie wearing matching sleepers my mom bought. She's cute like that. They look like a three-headed monster. Now, add to that 8 adults and you have the perfect recipe for overstimulation. And a memorable holiday.