The Tour de Doctors is never ending. And unlike the Tour de France, there's no trophy or metal at the end.
So back to the doctor we went Monday. This time, the family doctor.
She thought another round of oral steroids would help. Cut back on the prescription allergy medicine a bit, but add a daily dose of Benadryl. Go off the topical steroid (he became immune), and add (after my request) the prescription lotion the big boys take.
Boy howdy we know how to party over here.
We're also trying to wean, but Stubborn McFussyPants has no use for anything in his mouth except the boob. Of course. This morning I fed him a new (fourth!) formula in a sippy that didn't have the stopper. I think he got half of it on him, but even so - that's the most he's had of anything that didn't come out of a boob. So, I say WIN!
The steroids are an interesting, horrible life experiment. Let's take a baby who obviously doesn't feel well, but has a stellar disposition and turn him into MEAN ANGRY HULK BABY CRASH BOOM SMACK. New favorite pastime? Whacking Mama with a very hard rattle. Screaming non-stop. Giving big brothers dirty looks instead of laughing when they dare to make him giggle.
At least he's not turning green and ripping all his clothes off.
One dose in him and he's already better. And he's be even more better if he hadn't mastered the fine art of scratching his face into everything including the couch, carpet, blankets, his own shirt, our shirts and anything he can possibly get his face on.
Oh boy. Such a party.
Postscript: I just got a call from the doctor's office, when they swabbed his cheeks on Monday, the sample grew a Staph infection. Not MRSA, thankfully, but still: fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.