It’s getting worse. And by “it” I mean colic. And by “colic” I mean an immeasurable crapstorm of crying, flailing, and general unhappiness.
Last week I said it might be getting better, but that was just the calm before the storm. A few days later he just started to freak out.
It all started with bath time. He woke up one morning and decided, well–I’ll not be doing that anymore. When we stuck him in the sink he let out a war cry to wake the neighbors. Since then, it’s been a struggle. The only hope of a peaceful cleaning is if Baby Daddy does it very gently and very slowly. Not me. No amount of cooing and singing and gentleness makes a difference; I am the bath time witch.
Immediately following the bath strike, baby also decided to give up the breast. Not all the time, but when the evening comes–he’s all boobed out. I don’t get it. He is obviously hungry, but when I try to nurse him, he goes ballistic. And I don’t mean just crying, I mean s c r e a m i n g. He hurls himself away from my body, fists clenched, guns blazing, and just wails. Either I’m all dried up or he just prefers steak and potatoes. Regardless, it hurts my feelings.
You may say: just use formula. You may also say: don’t you dare. I say: that stuff is expensive! It is tempting though, especially because he loves it. He sucks it down faster than you can say “baby crack” and then sleeps through the night. It’s crazytown.
Also crazytown is the fact that this kid refuses to lie down. He wants to be up, awake, and moving around all the time. Lying on his back or his belly is not an option. Sometimes I have to hold him all day long. All day long I tell you! He rotates between sheer joy and extreme despair, with only short breaks for naps and boobs. I’m beginning to wonder if he is really Charlie Sheen disguised as a infant. I thought newborns were supposed to sleep all day. Lies.
Earlier this week Austin came home mid-afternoon to find us both sitting on the couch very frustrated. The baby had been crying all day and I was out of ideas. When I handed him off, however, he fell right to sleep.
Again, feelings hurt.
This seemingly bipolar pattern repeated itself yesterday when I took Waylon in for his two month check up. All morning he was a looney bin, but the second we arrived at the doctor’s office, he clammed up and sat in his car seat like it was his own personal lazy-boy. He even went as far as cooing and smiling at the nurses and doctor, glancing at me from time to time to see if I was watching. I kept saying things like “He’s not normally like this” and “He usually cries a lot,” but no one seemed to hear me. Even when he got his shots, he stopped crying as soon as I picked him up.
Finally I said, “Look–this baby has colic. He’s pretending right now, but he really does cry all the time for no reason and sometimes he won’t eat. It’s awful.”
Our doctor just nodded. “Having a baby is hard…”
I’m going to be honest, a few days ago I was ready to give up breastfeeding (and parenting) all together. But I talked to a few wise women (who promised it WILL get better) and have decided to be more rational. It will get better. It has to get better. It’s just hard to remember at five in the morning and he’s choking down gripe water and kicking me in the gut and I think I might pass out from exhaustion.
It’s kind of like post-birth pooing. Everyone said it would get better, but I didn’t believe it because it wasn’t happening even 6, 7, 8 weeks later. And then finally it was okay again.