A Gassy Mom Is Gassy Baby

A few days ago Kate and I took Max with us to one of our new favorite lunch spots in Wichita, Cafe Maurice.  We had some grape leaves, salads, and sandwiches.  Nothing crazy.  However, Kate decided to throw caution to the wind by ordering a falafel sandwich…chickpeas.  When you are married and you order falafel it makes a statement.  You have to immediately turn to your partner and make the “I’m sorry” face because there is an unspoken understanding that the consumer of sed falafel will be putting on a flatulation demonstration later that night under the confines of your bed covers.

I received this very look from Kate.

Later that day I came home from work and sure enough, the horn section of the Falafel Symphony had descended upon my living room.  Max was being his usual fussy self as he was smack dab in the middle of his cluster feeding time block.  He was extra fussy tonight though.  Between feedings he would scream, thrash, cry, and generally make his presence felt throughout the neighborhood.  We weren’t sure what to think of it.  Max started arching his back and crying which is a clear sign that he had some gas he was working through.  We gave him some Mylicon and helped him work through the pain.  Toot.  Toooooooot.  Toot!  He was working it out.  Kate said “well, I guess I’m not going to order falafel again while I’m breast feeding.”  I didn’t realize that Max could get gassy because of what Kate eats.  Thank goodness I’m not breast feeding him!

We crawled into bed around the usual time but Max was not in a sleeping mood.  He thrashed around in his crib kicking wildly at the wind while breaking tiny winds from his tiny wind-maker.  No pacifier could pacify him, no breast could cure his tears, and no holding could hold back his screams.  Then, as Max often does, he created a sound that is akin to a duck being strangled under water.  The distinct smell of falafel wafted through the room as sweet baby Max relaxed his back and quieted his cries.  Relief at last.  After a few diaper changes that night, no sleep, and surely some angry neighbors – I am confident that I will not be getting the “I’m sorry” face at lunch for a while from Kate.  However, in what could be deemed petty revenge I shot her the look the other night at dinner when I added an order of chili cheese fries to my order at The Anchor.

I love you dear.

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