This post composed in a blog that may also contain traces of wheat or dairy

Simon has had some pretty serious digestive problems since he began eating. I won't inflict the details on you. Receiving nothing really useful from the medical establishment, we have experimented ourselves. Our first breakthrough came from taking mild out of his diet. The second came by taking wheat out. The difference is noticeable and possitive, but it does make life a little bit difficult. Difficult in a pathetic and cute kind of way.

This evening, my niece, Sophia, was baptized. As usual it was a lovely service. I'm sure I'll be able to link to various people's pictures soon. Afterward, we had cupcakes as a celebratory snack. My mother, who is allergic to wheat, made regular cupcakes as well as gluten-free ones. Simon initially grabbed the wrong one, got it unwrapped, and had taken a small bite when Nina realized his error. I grabbed a gluten-free one and switched them. Then ensued a five minute conversation in which Simon, in his most pathetic whine, tried to convince Nina that his first choice was ok to eat.

Generally, though, he is a trooper. Verifying before eating most anything that it has neither dairy nor wheat. Bananas: no dairy, no wheat, Chicken: no dairy, no wheat, hot dogs: no dairy, no wheat.

Most of his bowel problems seemed to have cleared up, though he is still afraid of certain bodily processes. I dare say that he is even gaining some weight, which leads me to suspect that he has some form of Celiacs. I was hoping for a mere allergy or intolerance, but he has had a number of symptoms that indicate Celiacs, and has had improvement in a number of way since giving up the wheat that also indicate that may be what we are dealing with. But it will probably be a few years before we know for sure.

Where David surprises me by paying attention and Simon is sick

David behaves as well as any five-year-old in church--fidgety, tired, bored. our agreement is that he knows what points in the service that he is expected to stand, and for the rest he simply needs to not distract others. Then, I don't hassle or lecture him. If I see during the service that he is not standing, then I will limit his play for the rest of the day, expressing my concern that we are overworking him, which is why he must be so tired in church. But generally, he does ok and makes regular, if uneven, improvement.

We have decided to let him begin serving in the altar at Christmas. So last week, after church, I found an altar-server's robe that fit him and took him in to the altar to show him around and start teaching basic etiquette. I also gave him a lamp to see if he is able to carry it around while wearing an altar-server's robe. I started showing him the basics of the processions. We got to the readings:

Me: while everyone is singing 'Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal,' we stand here. Then when Father says 'Dynamis' we go out this way . . .
David: And stand by the carpet.
Me: Right! Then, what do we do after Reader John is finished with the epistle?
D: We go over here [turns, goes to the correct spot]. Then when Father is done reading [the Gospel] we do this [turns to the iconostas, bows turns and goes back into the altar]

I was stunned. I had no idea he was paying so much attention. Fr. Joseph and I decided tonight that he will serve for the first time on the 20th. He was elated.

In other news, Simon has a fever and mild cold symptoms. It seems like a mild flu with one exception. He has a red mark on his back that seems to be growing. We fear that it may be a spider bite. This was a bigger concern yesterday when the fever and some pain were his only symptoms. The addition of other cold symptoms makes me think flu but it could also be that he is suffering from a bite, but has also caught the cold that David has been carrying around for awhile.

We wait and see.

About Simon's arm

Simon has a broken Ulna (not a Radius, as previously reported). It happened like this. Sometime in the past week, he began to occasionally complain about pain in his arm. I would pick him up by the arms or bump him and he would say his arm hurt. He did the same with Jaime. Each time we would both do the same thing: carefully examine the area where he indicated he had pain, and ask him to flex his fingers, wrist, elbow, and shoulder. None of this revealed any problems. Yesterday (Saturday) Simon, David, and I went up to the farm to fly kites. Simon got himself tangle up in his kite string and I began untangling him. At one point, I asked him to drop the string he was holding and I picked him by the torso. He screamed and wailed in pain. He said his arm hurt. So I took him ot the emergency room.

He wailed all the way to the hospital about how he was scared. Which surprised me, since his mom works there so he is pretty familiar with it. Nevertheless, he was certain that they would hurt him. I assured him they would not and prayed that he didn't have a dislocated joined or would not need a shot.

Jaime was working, so she met us in triage and what would become a weekend of Social Worker jokes began. Doctors and nurses asked questions and recorded stats and then we got X-rays. He was nervous about the X-ray room--a large dark place with strange machinery. I held him in my lap with his arm on the table. I wore a lead skirt and he wore a little lead cod-piece. He did fine until he was asked to lay his forearm on the table palm-up. The process of rotating those bones (the Radius and Ulna) was painful.

The images revealed a tiny fracture. It appears as a bump on the edge of the bone in the picture. I have to believe the doctor that it is not part of the normal topology of his skeleton. So the nurse used a piece of gauze to measure his fore-arm because the weekend nurses are not certified for tape-measures. Then she came back with a splint that is only three-or-four times larger than his arm. The splint is a long, flat thing with something like plaster inside. She got it wet and then clam-shelled if over his arm from the elbow to the wrist. Once it set. she wrapped it with an ace bandage to secure it. The whole time he is alternating between curious and freaking the heck out. She procures a small sling, but he would have nothing to do with it.

On the whole, he did really well. Thank God for Curious George. We have a book which he goes to the hospital due to a case of the curiousness. I referred to it constantly: "remember when they put the bracelet on Curious George's wrist with his name on it?" "Remember when Curious George got the X-ray?" It really seemed to help. We left the hospital and he fell asleep in the car imediately. I took him back up to the Honakers and put him to bed. When he woke up, it took about 10-minutes to rediscover the cast, which caused him a moment of confusion.

So, tomorrow, he goes to our doctor for a permanent solution. He will probably get some sort of cast--either a standard plaster affair or a softer splint that secures with velcro.

Meanwhile, he is adapting well, doing a better job of adjusting to his own one-handedness than I am. He and David never stop regaling everyone with the story of how he broke his arm, which is a pretty boring story, so they are embellishing it a lot. If you have heard it, rest assured that I did not really drop him off of the roof.


Simon pictured here enjoying yogurt wearing one of the few shirts we can get over the splint.

So, how did he break his arm? We have no idea. He has slipped and fallen on/down the stairs a couple of times recently and he has fallen out of bed (and on the sidewalk, and in the kitchen and at church--the kid has gravity issues). It seems most likely that he struck it against the edge of a step or his bed frame. We will never know.

UPDATE: Simon went to the orthopedic surgeon this morning. He break is described as a "Nightstick Fracture" so called because of the injury that results when attempting to block the downward blow of a nightstick with a raised forearm. Which narrows it down to two possibilities: the aforementioned falls on the stairs or Simon has been sneaking out at night and rioting, which we have told him would earn him a time out. A full cast is not called for and they don't make soft splints that small, so they created a small soft splint that is basically like the one he had but that is only on his forearm, starting above the wrist and ending below the elbow. So he has full mobility and we can bath him without putting his arm in a sandwich bag.

Sick Simon

Simon has been feverish and vomiting for 24 hours now.  He is not doing as poorly as we have seen in the past, but he feels pretty miserable.  Breaks my heart to see him this way.

Sick Simon and growing David

We drove to Manhattan last night to see dad. Simon fell asleep on the way, but not the whole way. He woke up grumpy, complained of his tummy hurting and rested on his mom's shoulder the entire rest of the evening. He was a bit under the weather in the morning but seemed fine when I saw him in the evening.

I spoke with David on the phone this afternoon and marveled at how different he sounds. His inflection, the sound of his voice, and the things he talks about reflect a boy who is, for all intents and purposes, a five-year-old. He is already planning his fifth birthday party, which you are invited too.

Having hung the Simon-bait on the branch, David runs to his hiding place
to wait for the boogy man to fall for his trap.

Burned

Simon has a second degree burn along the half-inch length of the back of his right thumb's proximal phalanx. I normally do not let Simon in the kitchen because he is stubbornly resolved to tear it apart or in some way injure himself. Today, when I excused the boys after breakfast and began cleaning, Simon wanted to stay in his seat. He does this sometimes--usually before meals--sits in his chair and watches me prepare or clean up. I was doing the dishes and didn't notice that his slipped off his chair, walked across the kitchen to the stove behind me, reached up and touched the skillet just as I turned around.

The skillet was cold. He didn't burn himself today. He did that Thursday morning at mom's. Before she could react he darted into the kitchen, up to the stove, and reached for the skillet in which she was cooking. The burn was pretty bad and made him miserable. Today is the first day that he didn't complain about it hurting and didn't put up a fuss when I changed the bandage. He does avoid using that hand as much as possible, which is a pain since it is his dominant hand. But in spite of the misery of that experience he still walked up to another skillet today and touched it. I shouted in alarm, picked him up and set him down outside the gate that normally prevents him from entering the kitchen. His eyes welled up with big, wet, offended tears.

Consummate scientist: That skillet burned me, but that mean this one would too?

Yesterday, part 1--Summer, sickness, distant relatives

David's sense of time and grammar has evolved to understand the past tense in terms of "yesterday" and "last week." "Yesterday" is anything that happened in the memorable past, such as seeing "Horton Hears a Who" when it came out. "Last week is anything that happened before a time he can remember; his infancy and my childhood both took place last week. While is makes for some difficult conversation, it does make belated blogging better. Rather than feeling guilty about not having blogged about anything that happened this month, I can simply assert that anything blogworthy happened "yesterday."

"Yesterday" summer finally really began. June has been a gorgeous, beautiful month with a lovely mix if mild days, mildly hot days, and thunderstorms (worse for parts west of us). Typically, the starting event for our summer is the Smoky Hill River Festival in Salina. This year's was particularly nice. Everyone was able to attend, the weather was lovely and Jaime and I figured out a way to rig our finances so that we could do our Christmas shopping. Since the festival is Father's day weekend, that means we knocked out two holidays in one weekend.

David followed up by getting sick. It began on a Tuesday night with a sore throat at bedtime and progressed to a fever and continuous vomiting throughout the night. Wednesday afternoon he saw a doctor and Wednesday night, after 36 hours without food or drink, he went to the hospital for fluids. He'll describe this to you in detail. "Yesterday, I went to the hospital and the poked a hole in my arm and purple blood came out. I didn't like it." He has been obsessed lately with the color of his blood, observing that it is blue in his veins but red when it gets out, so it was an opportune time to have blood drawn and an IV inserted. We never did determine conclusively what he was sick with. He was neg. for strep so it was probably a virus. He still had a fever at bedtime that Friday night. I haven't seen him that miserably sick since his first birthday. Because of it, we skipped my company picnic on the 21st, which I had been looking forward to for about 6 months. Instead we had a lazy Saturday together.

June also saw visits from several relatives. Firstly, my aunt Marla, her son, Shawn, and his wife, Janelle, came to visit. I have never met Janelle and the last time Shawn was back, Jaime was still pregnant with Simon. Simon was typically shy around them at first but eventually warmed. Since they left, every time we go to grandpa's (which is where Simon saw them), Simon says "Shawn? Shawn?" This was actually Marla's second recent visit. She was here in May with her youngest, Patricia with whom Simon also took his time falling in love. I don't have any photos of either of these visits, but the visitors do. Maybe I can get some from them eventually.

More recently, uncle Grant visited from Seattle with similar results. Initial shyness followed by obsessive longing. They got go to the Kansas City Zoo where Ducks were apparently the highlight. Grant very self-consciously cultivated the role of cool uncle for himself, which both he and David enjoyed immensely.

stop panicking

So the Barium swallow went predictably well. Like the rattle in your car that you only hear until you go to the shop,he didn't spit up or show anything abnormal. Nevertheless, Jaime managed to rangle some anti-reflux meds out of our doctor. Suddenly, we are experiencing a barf drought at chez sdjj. It's going to wreck our entire barf-based economy. We're going to have to apply for barf subsidies from the department of barficulture.

ahem.

They weighed and measured him. He is 22 inches long and weighs 9 lbs, 10 oz.
His weight puts him in the 22nd percentile for his age, the same percentage as women who test too high for levels of mercury.

Simon is definitely more an "infant" now rather than "new born." He's looking around, cooing, holding up his head and responding to the world. He will sit on my lap looking around, I'll move my face into his line of site, and his expression will change, like "oh hi, where did you come from?" This evening, I fed him a bottle for the first time. It was bonding and all, but doesn't seem the same without getting barfed on.

In other news, David and I hit the gym(nastics school) again this evening and were informed that a boy who jumps as well as he does should also be standing on one foot unassisted. So, when we got home, I tied one foot to his waist and told him he could have a glass of chocolate milk just as soon has he can get into the kitchen and get it. I'm confident that his monopedalism will improve by next week.

I'll be sure to report on his progress.

Later, mercury fans.

BaSO4

Tomorrow we poison the baby. Then, the radiation.

Have I ever told you about the time my old friend Jay nearly died? We were at Perkins with a group and Jay took a drink of soda while talking or laughing and choked. This was not the typical sputtering and gagging that we all encounter when something "goes down the wrong pipe." Jay stopped breathing. You've probably been around someone when this happens: they gag and try to swallow, being casual, not making a big deal. A worried look comes over them and they try harder to clear the problem by flexing and expanding the throat muscles. People stop talking and exchange concerned looks. Someone might make a joke to gauge the seriousness of the situation. A straight question would be more appropriate but few of us have been in this situation often enough to think clearly. Panic overtakes the victim, who stands and tries anything to begin breathing. Everyone else is up, wondering if they can live up to this moment--do what is required. With Jay, we were at the point of getting up and clearing space around him in case the heimlich would need to be done, when suddenly, spontaniously, he began to breath again. I had no idea that a person could choke so severely on a liquid. It was terrifying.

Something like this happens to Simon a couple of times almost everyday.

So, he is going to a "Barium Swallow" tomorrow.

Wikipedia says:

[He] will swallow a suspension of fine particles of Barium Sulfate in an aqueous solution with sweetening agents added. Then, we'll X-ray his esophagus. The suspension appears white on the x-rays, and outlines the internal lining of the esophagus.

and

Barium sulfate is the white crystalline solid with the formula BaSO4. It is very insoluble in water and other potential solvents. The mineral barite is composed largely of barium sulfate and is a common ore of barium.

and

Although barium is a heavy metal, and its water soluble compounds are often highly toxic, the extremely low solubility of barium sulfate protects the patient from absorbing harmful amounts of the metal. Barium sulfate is also readily removed from the body.

The compound works due to barium's relatively high atomic number (Z = 56), since large nuclei absorb X-rays much better than smaller nuclei.

It doesn't sound too traumatic. I'm not sure how they will do the X-ray. Ideally we would wait for him to fall asleep in order to hold still enough, but I don't know how much time we'll have after the swallow.

I also don't know what they are looking for or what they will be able to do when they find it.

As a matter of fact, if it were not for Wikipedia, I wouldn't know squat--a sad state of affairs indeed.

Of course, I'll completely forget to post an update after this is over to let you know how it went, so just imagine the best.

Later, Perkins fans

my son is immune

My son is now immune. He is immune to Polio and a four other little bugs that were once the scourge of humanity. For about 10 minutes, he was immune to any attempts to console his feverish wailing. He was immune to his mother's tears and his father's assurances that the world is an ok place, really.

Many of you were at the baptism and pitied his moans at being dunked a few times in warm water. You think it is just cruel to be so mean to a helpless little infant. You can just stick a sock in it because you didn't get to stand there while two nurses buried three needles into his chubby little thighs and then held them there for the length of time it takes to empty several mm of impotent viruses into him--about six thousand years by my watch. Small things can make big noises, like nuclear bombs and my son when being pierced like a Menelaus during a Trojan truce.

Prior to being stuck (three times), he weighed in at 12 pounds, 8 ounces and measured 24 inches long. I forget what percentiles those are, but they are both middlin'. So he is "height/weight proportional" as they say in the singles ads when they don't want to come off as being hung up in unrealistic body image expectations, but also don't want a fatty. Well David is going to have a hard time in the singles market because, when you are two months old, h/wp=fatty--fatty enough to bury three needles in your thighs.

I decided that our doctor's personality is similar to Dooce. That may seem like a difficult thing to determine since Dooce is an internet personality whom I have never met, and our doctor is a doctor and so I have only spent about 10 cumulative minutes with her. Let's just say that I have a gift for making quick, uninformed, and extremely accurate judgments about people's personalities and leave it at that. You will never meet either of them (or at least not both of them) so you can't say that I am wrong. She wasn't present for the sticking because she can't handle seeing babies get stuck.

We are all moved into mom's (happy, mom?) house. We now basically sleep atop a blanket thrown over a pile of boxes containing our possessions. We set up the crib and were very pleased to discover how much storage space there is underneath it. We were then more pleased to discover how much storage space there is inside of it. Those things are as deep and wide as God's Love for me. We can pretty much put all of the winter clothes inside of ours.

Jaime did a little photo shoot with Dawit recently and got some charming images. I bet you wish you could see them, don't you? Patience. For everything, there is a time.

this fussy week post is brought to you in part by . . .

I see when I visit the site (yes, I visit my own blog) that there is
advertising at the top that relates directly to what I have posted.
Blogger, now owned by Google, has little programs, much like those in hit
film "The Matrix," that read my posts and then search for advertising
related to keywords in the content. So I am comforted to know that even if you are not reading this, Google is, and they could buy and sell you at this point. So I will try to post entries that are more conducive to advertising links so that we can keep this endeavor free of charge.

David, who only wears onesies by Gerber or Carter, has been particularly
fussy this week. He seems to be having sinus problems. He refuses to sleep on his back and when we lay him on his back to change his Pampers brand diapers, he fusses and his breathing is noticeably louder. We have been treating him with Little Noses saline solution and trying to suck out the snot with a Little Noses snot sucker bulb but with little success.
Additionally, he seems to be having tummy problems again, which makes him
cry for hours at a time and spit up his milk and Similac Brand Formula with Alumentum. Jaime suspects that the drainage from his nose is getting into his tummy, which is what happens when she gets a cold. And he will not sleep. In spite of all of our tricks and soothing and coaxing and cooing and dancing, he simply stays awake until his is so tired and cranky, that he just exhausts himself and can't hold his eyes open.

But when he is not fussy, he makes up for it by being more charming than
ever. He is smiling lots more, for instance. He is supposed to be
developing his social smile about now. He is so gassy that it is difficult to tell the difference between his frequent gassy smiles and anything else--when in doubt, we call it a social smile. He certainly focuses on things more--especially his mom. Several times I have seen him look straight at her and smile. His arm movements are much more coordinated. He can now successfully get his hand to his mouth seven times out of ten, which means he smacks himself in the eye much less frequently. We could hook some sort of generator to his legs and power the apartment with his constant, violent kicking. I was awakened yesterday by what felt like the U.S. Olympic synchronized swim team practicing treading on my back. I turned over to tell them that they aren't really athletes to discover that it was just David letting me know that he is hungry.

So he is fussy and charming. This is to keep us from refusing to eventually let him go while also preventing us giving him to the next person we see out the window.

chin chin chin chin chest

Earlier in the week, I was going to post a follow-up to the previous whining about how my son doesn't like me. I was going to tell you that the Thrush has persisted and that the Phanar of Flatulance is showing more symptoms and that is probably why he is so fussy. Jaime noticed persistent whitish stuff on his tongue and she has been experiencing continued pain while feeding him. I was going to apologize for casting aspersions on his ability to show me the love and respect that that he owes me as my son.

Thrush, however, is not the problem. The Big News this week is that Poops-a-Lot and Leaks-a-Lot do not have thrush anymore. They went to the doctor who examined them thoroughly and told Jaime that there are no signs or symptoms of Thrush. As it turns out, the whitish stuff is normal and mothering just hurts sometimes. Who knew?

This medical opinion of course contradicts the opinion our our synod of Lactation Consultants with all their womanly instinctual earth-goddess wisdom. They were disappointed when we called to cancel the leeching.

I am thrilled. No more boiling everything all the time. No more feeding Froggy Toes medication that could make his liver look that of an aging alcoholic.

Of course it leaves me with my original hypothesis that Squirmy is an unappreciative twerp.

The Dough-boy has topped eleven pounds. Jaime tried to count all of his chins but gave up after she got to the top of his diaper. The Doctor says that his weight is in the 57th percentile. This is the same percentage of people who would rather "hold it" than use scratchy, public restroom toilet paper.

Grandma Suzie got the stains out of the baptismal gown. Thank you Grandma Suzie!

IAQs

This has been an exciting fifth week. Not "exciting" like winning the Pulitzer prize for blogging, but "exciting" like, "wow, it's exciting how many diapers a person can change in five weeks; I had no idea."

The week began with the First Bottle. Mom pumped and Grandma Susie got to feed. This was followed by the excitement of Dad handling the 2:00 am feed while Mom slept for four hours straight for the first time in months. Mom's production is not quite up to feeding and providing extra meals, so when he takes the bottle it is a cocktail of milk and formula with a splash of Gripe Water--shaken (you fill in the rest). Toward the end of the week, he got his first bug. Minor fever, major fussiness. He got to have his nose plumbed with one of those little snot-extracting bulbs. The fussiness led to the First Use of a Pacifier.

I missed most of this because the Museum is my new home for a couple of weeks. Grandma Susie is filling in as Grandma, husband, maid, errand boy, and general angel. I wonder about 15 times a day how he is doing and if he wonders where I am or has he just forgotten all about me.

I learned this week that his name in Ethiopian is "Dawit"

My friend, Valerie, wondered via email what interesting question she could ask me so as not to ask some boring old question like "is he sleeping well" or "hey, buddy, what the heck is your problem?" I could earn a living with nickels from those. Well, for Val and anyone else unable to come up with a new question on your own, here are a few freebies:

"How many head injuries has he sustained as a result of his clumsy parents?"--three

"Who does he like best?"--In order, mom, grandma Susie, invisible person standing in the corner, dad.

"Which [euphemism] is his favorite?"--the left

"Should congress act now to pass legislation declaring that sweet baby smell an addictive substance like cocaine and cable tv and regulate it?"--yes, I could make a fortune on the black market selling David's smell.

two weeks

David is two weeks old today. The fun never stops. In the novel Ender's Game young boys in military school play military games as training. One team consistently wins so with each new day, new rules are introduced and old rules are changed to make it different and more difficult. Every time Ender's team has figured out how to win the game, the rules change. The author, Orson Scott Card is very familiar with parenting. The highlight of this week was a discovery of a situation called Gastroesophogeal Reflux (you spell it, I am busy cleaning up pee). We have been told frequently by healthcare professionals that many babies spit up a lot--especially boys--due to an underdeveloped flap separating the tummy and the esophagus. But they all failed to mention two important points: 1) This can cause discomfort symptoms that are identical to the symptoms we have been attributing to severe gas, and 2) this is very easily treatable. We learned this from a book and so we changed our regimen and pow, game won--go jeesh. No more spitting up everything that he ate, no more hours of writhing and screaming. He gets Gripe Water, he eats, we keep him upright for 30 minutes, he is fine. Yes, it sounds simple to you who probably slept for more than seven hours this week. So life is beautiful, tra la la la la, until earlier today when, for no apparent reason, he upchucks while he is eating. What is that about? So we adjust, change what we are doing just a bit and try to figure out the new rules.

Jaime is in some discomfort that I can't really get into here and she is sort of frustrated today. Apparently, she thought that the pain and discomfort of pregnancy would let up once the baby was actually born.

On Friday, I called the church to talk to a friend with many kids and had this conversation:

Me: Do you have any tips for dealing with thrush?
Friend: My kids didn't have thrush but my sister's did and she is a lactation consultant and she is right here; I will put her on.
Me: er
Friend's sister: Uh, hello?

Really, how many times do you call a random place with a lactation question to find that there is lactation consultant standing right there? What luck. Towards the beginning of the conversation she mentioned that she happened to be feeding her child as we spoke.

Me: So, you are pretty good at this then.
Her: Yeah, well it helps if you are going to be a lactation consultant.

Then later she interrupted me with "oh! She just spit up I-don't-know-much milk on me."

Nice to know that this even happens to the experts.

OK, well, Jaime just laid a sleeping baby on the bed next to me, so I am signing out.

I have more pictures. If you say your prayers, I will post them.

Love J-dad.

PS. I wrote the above last night but didn't get to post. That sleeping baby awoke a few minutes later and launched into a two-hour screaming fit. With all previous fits, we could figure out some way of soothing him. Then, we changed the feeding regiment and the fits subsided altogether. So this one was a new change of the rules. But it eventually ended with a feed and he has been fine since. He is now laying next to me again. Jaime needed to shower. She said "I am itchy with baby vomit." There is a vivid picture.

Thrush

"Thrush." It sounds almost wholesome, like a bird from a Shakespearian sonnet. Well it makes mom cry; it makes baby cry; it makes daddy cry and daddy doesn't actually have it. Jaime was having enormous pain and thought that she was failing at developing proper feeding technique. Come to find out, this was the problem. It is being treated and she is doing much better. David on the other hand is suffering from some serious gas in the lower GI. There are three possible causes that we know of (listed in order of potential severity): 1) a growth spurt--something we can't do anything about, but should pass soon; 2) The Thrush is fermenting the milk in his bowels-- we are treating him for this with medication but it could still last a couple of weeks; 3) Colic--there is actually no reason to suspect this right now, but it makes the blog a little more dramatic.


Stay tuned, drama fans.