Methane
Photos to come tonight.
I’m currently sitting in a cubicle in San Bruno, California, where I’m supposed to be writing some learning objectives for an oncology nurse program that I’ll be writing over the next two months, but am instead writing about gas. (Side note: Why is it in today’s world of amazing technology, I have to leave my house at 5:30 in the morning, fly to California, go to a meeting that will last two hours, and fly home, not climbing into bed until well after midnight, instead of just having a web conference?)
So, back to gas. This weekend, my cousin and her husband came for a visit. (Another side note: It’s a little strange to talk about my cousin being married. Abby is twelve years younger than me, and although we’re of the same generation — her mother and my mother are sisters — because of the age difference, it always seemed that she was more of a niece and I was her sage-like uncle, always there to give advice and counsel her on all things Spice Girls. And now… now she’s married. So strange.)
They arrived early evening, just as Henry was going to bed, and they were able to hold him and hug him a bit before he went to sleep, although he was quite crabby the whole time. Like his father, if he’s not sleeping when his body says he should be sleeping, he’ll whine and puff out his lower lip and make everyone know that it’s bedtime.
The next morning, when Abby had more time to play with Henry, however, he would have nothing to do with it. There were tears — oh, so many tears. And not just crying, there were screams and wails and moans unlike anything we heard. He only wanted to be held by me or Kristen, and any attempt to do differently (hand him to Abby or her husband, Alex, or put him down in the crib) only increased the screams.
Abby was convinced that Henry hated her. Kristen and I, however, were convinced that Henry had gas. A lot of gas. So for about half an hour, sequestered from the rest of the world and in a darkened bedroom, Kristen and I took turns holding him, bouncing with him, and burping him, until enough gas was expelled from his system that he would let us put him down for a nap. Exhausted from the wailing, he slept for 90 minutes (really, the only good thing about him getting so upset is that when he does fall asleep, it’s a deeper, longer nap, making him well-rested and happy when he wakes).
And that’s exactly what happened. When he woke up, he was all gummy smiles, and was more than happy to be held and swung and read to and all the things that Henry likes, as if he forgot completely that, just three hours earlier, he “hated” Abby.
Which is a good thing, because I didn’t want her reporting back to the rest of my family that our child was evil and mean and miserable.
That is, until this coming weekend, when my sister and brother-in-law come for a visit. We’ll be sure to feed Henry some beans before they arrive so they can really appreciate their nephew.
