When Kenzie was a baby, we used to have to walk her, sit her up, bend her forward, dance a jig,  stand on our heads, and several other innovative techniques just to get her to burp.  When she finally did, it rolled out like a drunken sailor's on a weekend binge.

Once, when Holly had her at the pediatrician's office for a check-up, one of those monster burps actually exploded without our usual fifteen-minute acrobatic ordeal,

Holly said the doctor looked at her with a startled expression and asked,  "Do her burbs ALWAYS sound like that?"

"Pretty much," she responded.

He immediately put her on lactose free formula and gave Holly some drops for her to take before she took her bottle.

When she was a year old and we switched her to whole milk, she seemed to have no trouble tolerating the high octane version, of which to this day she still consumes several glasses a day.

However, after her trip to the emergency room, which revealed gas bubbles all through her abdominal cavity, she went back to her pediatrician for a confirmation of the diagnosis of "children's colic."

The doctor confirmed it after looking at the x-rays and put her back on lactose-free milk, stating he was sure she was developing lack of tolerance to milk.

It makes perfect sense, since Bailey, Holly, and I all have an intolerance to milk.  When the doctor asked if anyone else in the family had a problem with milk and she told him that all of us did, he said that milk intolerance is inherited from the mother.

Well, of course!  Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out.  I mean, like everything else with babies, Moms are the source for food. Men have all the fun and women do all the work!