what colicky babies teach us.

henry will be 8 weeks old on sunday, approaching 2 months and still crying more than not. there are good days. days that are so good that i almost forget the bad ones. but the bad ones are there, some days where all that he does is cry, cry, cry. some part of me is used to it or less frazzled by it. sometimes it doesn’t even bother me, the crying. other times i want to pull my hair out. but then there will be a good day, a good morning, a good afternoon, a good few hours, and i just adore him. and somehow the energy comes, the patience and the ability to hold him and kiss him and whisper “shhhh” through the screams.

colicky babies take everything, everything in the world. the amazing thing is that resiliance. it is a miracle, because there is no logical place that it comes from. the exhaustion is still there, but with it is love. i wait for him to wake up, to see what faces he will make, what his hands and feet and his little furrowed brow will do. i wait for him to fall asleep, to see his eyelashes flutter and his little fists relax. the amazing thing about colicky babies is that they demand your presence. my life is hour to hour, minute to minute. it revolves around how he will be, instead of what i want to do. there is only the moment we are in. i have no plans, no list of things to do. i am just with him. it’s a new experience for me, for sure. i am a planner. i am perpetually early, perpetually busy, perpetually taking care of everything. and now, there is no room for all of that. just henry. 

i went through a pretty deep depression in the midst of this, adjusting to him and his inconsolable crying. i felt inconsolable, too. but something moves you forward, upward. it’s not like anything else, it’s not like accomplishing something and gaining confidence. it’s incredibly humbling to be a parent. to realize that much of what filled your days and nights doesn’t really matter. you learn to just be. just be there with them. much of what you try won’t stop the crying. but sometimes it will. and if somehow you can see through all of that crying that this little baby needs and wants you completely, right now, you’ll see a light at the end of the tunnel. we’re not there yet, but it is getting better. he’s stronger and healthier and bigger and needs me just a little bit less, some days. i know that soon it will all change, and i can’t wait to see him grow into a little person. but right now there’s just today, him asleep in my arms, for now.

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