When I discovered I was pregnant with my third child, it came as a shock. To make matters worse, I was unwell throughout the entire nine months. That small, strawberry-flavored pill (known as Zofran) became my saving grace, helping me navigate each day.
By June, I was eager for the pregnancy to conclude. I was enormous, plagued by heartburn at the mere sight of water, and struggling to walk. Surely, everything would improve once the baby arrived? I yearned for those cozy afternoon naps with my newborn nestled on my chest, anticipating tears of joy at his first birthday celebration as I reflected on the blissful days of early motherhood.
Then he arrived. Almost immediately, I found myself battling blisters from nursing a ravenous, tongue-tied infant before I even left the hospital. It quickly became apparent that this little one had a temperament unlike our previous two calm babies.
Around the two-week mark, our son began to cry incessantly—not the gentle whimper of a typical newborn, but a piercing scream that could last for hours. Each evening, from around 5 PM until midnight or later, he would unleash a torrent of cries, fists clenched, face flushed bright red.
If you’ve never dealt with colic, it’s hard to explain the toll it takes on you. It can shatter your spirit, provoke irrational anger, and stir a whirlwind of emotions. Despite relatively calm days, the nightly crying fest would overshadow any sense of peace.
Being someone who thrives on action, I was determined to fix the situation. I believed that if I read enough books, scoured enough websites, and tried various methods, I could make the crying stop. But nothing worked. We would sit in darkness (light and stimulation only made things worse) as he cried. I would rock him until I felt utterly drained, often zoning out to cope. Sometimes, I cried right alongside him. This went on for seven long months.
I was mentally exhausted from the constant screaming, gripped by the fear that we might be reported for neglect (we lived in a close-knit urban environment). My lack of sleep compounded my anxieties. I felt utterly unprepared for parenting a third child, burdened by the belief that I should have it all together by now. The reality was starkly different, and I often felt disconnected from my newborn—unlike my feelings for my other two boys.
To be honest, I struggled to bond with this baby. Caring for him felt like an endless chore, and I resented him for not being able to be set down. I even found myself feeling bitter toward my partner, who could leave for work every day.
Finally, around eight months, we made the decision to try sleep training again. With renewed determination, we succeeded this time. Coincidentally, he also chose that moment to wean off nursing in favor of a bottle. With both improved sleep and the convenience of formula (sometimes it really is better), I began to see a glimmer of hope.
Now, our story has transformed. Our little one emerged from his colic phase and, by his first birthday, he became an absolute joy. He’s now an excellent sleeper with a bright smile, full of goofiness and a knack for making his older brothers laugh.
To all the parents out there navigating similar struggles: it truly gets better. Hang onto your sanity, and if you feel overwhelmed, gently set your baby down in a safe spot. And please, don’t hesitate to ask for help! If you’re in Seattle, I’d be happy to bring you a meal. For more tips on home insemination, check out this informative post on at-home intracervical insemination. And remember, for expert guidance, visit Intracervical Insemination or explore the CDC’s resources on pregnancy and assisted reproduction.
In summary, surviving a colicky baby can feel overwhelming, but there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Parenting is a journey filled with ups and downs, and it’s okay to ask for help along the way.