I'd eat chocolate for you, too.

Today Amaya is 4 weeks old. That's 28 days or a little over 672 hours. Where on earth did all of that time go? Now, I realize that half of this time I was in a Percocet induced haze, but what about the other 20,160 minutes? And how is it that on any given day it feels as if time is crawling, but somehow it still seems like the month has flown by?

Anyway, my little pumpkin has been a pill these last few days. She's beyond fussy and doesn't want to take naps during the day. She's also ravenous--eating 3 ounces of formula about every two hours--sometimes she even has 4 or 5 ounces. The girl must have some kind of disease. Maybe holeinherstomachitis? Or possibly the lesser known bigpiggywhoisgoingtoturnintoachubboerosis? Do you suppose there is a cure or course of treatment approved for either of these illnesses? Oh google...


Google offered no salvation for this particular problem, so here I am once again feeding the black hole in her belly when I notice three new blemishes on the little cherub's face. This discovery reminds me of how her pediatrician had said that at 1 month the hormones that I so generously shared with her would begin to rage and cause her little baby skin to erupt in acne that could rival any teenager's skin woes. And suddenly I am able to put all of the pieces together--cranky, binge eating, bad skin--my little pudding pop is having her first bout of PMS! Well, maybe it should be PPPPPMS as the M is quite a few years away.

Having made a definitive diagnosis, I begin to ponder the possible cures. The obvious answer would be to give her the same medicine that works for me when I too am suffering from the monthly monster, but somehow I don't think she's quite old enough for fudge brownies and sappy movies. But wait--Brain Flash! Since it's really my hormones in her body creating all the fuss, maybe I should eat the brownie for her? It will be a sacrifice to be sure, but I'm willing to suffer for the well being of my daughter. That's just the kind of Mama I am.