The price I'd pay for sleep...

You know how they say that you can't put a price on happiness? Well, it turns out, I can put a price on happiness when that happiness is caused by the enjoyment that sleep brings me.

And that price just so happens to be right around $200.

Because, after trying more tummy time, and a different kind of formula, and anti-gas drops, and holding Caitlin upright for an hour after each feeding, I had to call our pediatrician back this week to tell her that NOTHING IS WORKING. Caitlin is still waking herself up, choking, after a few hours of sleep each night. And that's after she can't even fall asleep to begin with because she keeps gurgling up her bottle every time I lay her down in her crib, no matter how long it's been since her last feeding or how many times I've managed to burp her. And then there's the back arching. And the acidic smell to her burps. And the constant wet sounds in the back of her throat and nose, even when no milk is coming out.

(And seriously, while I would like to get more than two consecutive hours of sleep, I could probably deal with it, if that was the only issue. But it's so sad to see your poor baby, who is utterly exhausted and trying so hard to fall asleep, wake herself up crying over and over again because she can't keep her dinner down. Even when dinner was an hour before she tried to fall asleep. And she's not even lying on her back, she's still in your arms, propped up. It's like, by the time the reflux symptoms from the last feeding fade away, it's time to eat again. We don't like this cycle.)

None of these things are good for my nerves or baby Caitlin's health, so the pediatrician called in a Prevacid prescription for us. And when I went to pick it up, they told me it would be $217. For 30 pills. Because there is no generic drug. And a new year means a new deductible. And babies are expensive.

Ok, that last part isn't really one of the reasons the prescription was so much money, but holy cats, it's the truth. In Caitlin's short life, we've paid for a heart scan, a cranium x-ray, a round or two of bloodwork, and now a reflux medication prescription. And she's absolutely worth every penny. Of course she is.

But you'd better believe I'm keeping track of all of this so I can hold it over her head someday when she's trying to con me into buying her a pair of $300 jeans or a new car or something.

'Sorry, kid, I can't buy you a designer purse because I spent all of my money protecting your esophagus when you were a month old. You're welcome.'

I am going to get WAY too much enjoyment out of that conversation, aren't I? Maybe the teen years are going to be more fun for me than I think...