Moo was a colicky baby.
The Mister and I both had colic, but no one mentioned this to us until Moo had it.
I feel like these things should be documented before people breed. Like, we knew we’d be putting braces on all the people’s teeth, because we remember having the braces, but we don’t remember having the colic.
If you don’t know what colic is like, well, then, I’m happy for you, and you should be happy, too.
Colic is miserable.
Words that I could use to explain colic would not convey what the colic is actually like.
Sissy used to have “Sick Baby” which was a doll that cried and cried and its face lit up red and got warm. Man, I hated Sick Baby. I’d take the batteries out of Sick Baby sometimes, because I just couldn’t take it.
You cannot take the batteries out of your colicky baby.
You might, in a moment of despair, consider whether it’s appropriate to lock your screaming infant in the detached garage and turn the baby monitor to 1 so you can just think for a goddamn minute, but if you actually think for a minute, while your baby screams in your face, you realize it is not appropriate to lock your screaming infant in the detached garage.
My Moo had colic every night from about 9pm to about 3am. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t a fussy infant the other 18 hours of the day, but rather, absolutely nothing pleased her for any substantial amount of time from 9-3.
I was delighted to feed her at 1am and 3am because while she ate, she shut the fuck up.
I know, you’re like, “Don’t say shut the fuck up about a baby!” but you don’t know.
She never took a pacifier, and it sure wasn’t because we didn’t try to plug her up.
One lady in the supermarket told me Moo would be a great singer, she was just testing her lungs.
During Moo’s infancy, The Mister could not comfort her. Being somewhat of a baby whisperer like his mother, this was completely offensive to him. (One day I’ll tell you about that.)
Moo never took a bottle, either.
And I know, I know, you think that’s because we didn’t let her get hungry enough and caved. I used to think that about other people. We actually left Moo with my MIL for over 24 hours and still she never took a bottle. MIL was also astounded and had gotten no sleep. FIL didn’t want MIL to keep Moo again until she could eat food, so I don’t think FIL slept, either.
MIL thought something was really wrong with Moo, but the doctors said it was colic and it would pass. (Like her crazy hair?)
There are plenty of theories about colic. I saw a sign about it recently and I guess now they call it ‘Purple Crying?!?’
Some suggested reasons for colic are digestion issues, lack of melatonin, hormones, and even that it’s a normal developmental milestone. To be honest, no one fucking cares what causes it, we only care how to make it stop.
Infants like to be held. Moo was held, or worn 90% of her day. There are only so many things that babies can do when they’re not being held. They can lie down, roll over, and lift their heads. Imagine the excitement. Many infants enjoy swings, but Moo did not. Moo liked to be held, and preferably while the person holding her moved. It’s only in the past two years that we’ve stopped picking her up, and she’s quite sad about it.
Many, many nights, I would walk around the house with the swaddled Moo and we would cry together. She, for the mystery of colic and I for the hopeless exhaustion of the mystery of colic.
One night, Bubba passed us in the hall.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because she’s crying?”
“Why is she crying?”
(By the by, if you’ve ever said, “Maybe the baby is hungry,” to the parent of a crying baby, please, don’t do that again. Think about that. Imagine your reaction if every time your cat meowed some asshole told you it might need to be fed.)
Movement helps colic, as do loud noises. Moo liked vacuum time, driving time, and laundry time (It’s okay to put the carseat on the top of the dryer when you’re right there, you know!) She liked dancing and rocking, too.
Movies and television shows are always demonstrating baby preferences by showing the baby crying as an immediate reaction to being put down, or being handed over, or being offered peas. You may think this is simply a funny thing actor babies are scripted to do, but I assure you, it’s real.
When Sassy was a baby, she’d sit in her swing and watch Nick Jr. until the octopus came on. Then she’d scream her freakin head off. That octopus (with the wiener dog?) meant swing time was over!
This is how we found out Moo liked Beethoven. Specifically Symphony #5. We had to skip Moonlight Sonata and then she would peacefully accept Fur Elise and the rest of the cd. It is important to note that I tried other music. Frequently. Without success.
This is a photo of my sanity:
That’s Moo, chillaxing quietly to Beethoven at near full volume. That’s it. That was the break in my day.
For about three months.
Without Beethoven, I carried that baby errrywhere, and she still cried too damn much. I’d like to take a moment to thank God that she has been a small, light, slow-growing child. I could not have carried or worn baby Sassy for near as long.
Seems to me Beethoven is quite possibly Moo’s first love, and I owe him a debt of gratitude.
Did you endure colic? Do you have a music that makes you shut up and chillax? Do you have any babyhood traumas you’d like to vent about?