As another week ticks by and the pain and fear in your face continues to break my heart, I rock you to sleep in my arms, wiping away tears from your face, unsure where yours end and mine begin.
You so want to be happy and join in the madness but your constant pain and discomfort make you so sad.
We have been at breaking point so many times as your screams echo around the four lockdown walls, helpless as we take turns to jiggle you and distract you for a moment to try and make you smile.
Motherhood shouldn’t be this hard and I am forever grateful to my middle child for being the model baby to show me how it can be. This isn’t normal, this isn’t a baby that cries, this isn’t something we all have to put up with until you grow out of it.
Three doctors I have tried to get you the help you so desperately need and deserve. Three doctors who have fobbed me off with a tone to their voice insinuating I am a fussy, postnatal-depression riddled mother. Three doctors who have ignored my plea, my begs, my explanations. “Is this your first child?” Asked time and time again. Good job you aren’t Sybbie or I can guarantee it would be only us three.
So sick of being made to feel a fool. So sick of having weeks added on before a review. So sick of different opinions that all lead to the same outcome of basically dealing with it and if you are gaining weight, you are fine.
Time to take matters into our own hands and see our own private paediatrician next week to get you some help and save all our sanity. I can’t wait to be listened to, to get an action plan and to get you as comfortable as we can.
Silent reflux you really are a nasty piece of work.