“He’s probably just hungry. Have you tried swaddling him, all my kids loved that! Try a bit of chamomile tea in his bottle!”
“Oh, wow! Swaddle my baby??!! What a novel idea! How didn’t I think of that over the last 4 weeks of relentless crying!” — said inside my head.
Outwardly, I’d smile and nod through tears of udder fatigue and misery. Our son had colic and it was freakin’ terrible.
Before we begin trudging through the phases of colic, let’s do a quick recap of how colic is defined.
What is colic exactly?
There is no formal diagnostic criteria for colic. But in an effort to provide a “diagnosis,” physicians use “the rule of 3s.” If the infant is otherwise healthy, younger than 3 months of age, cries for greater than 3 hours per day for more than 3 days per week, it is presumed to have colic. The diagnosis is also made retrospectively — meaning after the crying has already run its course, which is completely unhelpful. So there you have it.
But for all intents and purposes, colic is crying.
Nothing. You do nothing. Pediatrician does nothing. The End.
Haha. Tricked you!
If you’re deep in the trenches of colic right now, I know you skipped through this to the “treatment” section, lucky for you it’s right up top. And it’s understandable because you’re completely desperate and hoping someone has a magical solution that you haven’t already tried. We’ve been there, too.
But, that’s the very nature of colic. If something were actually wrong, it wouldn’t be colic — recall, this is an “otherwise healthy infant.” So assuming you’ve had your baby checked out by a pediatrician and all is well (which is amazing and horrible news all at once), then you’re dealing with colic.
And so begins the first phase of colic.
So you’d think that finding out nothing is wrong with your baby would be reassuring. And in hindsight, of course it is! You’re so very, very, very lucky to have a healthy baby. I can also appreciate this, too now that my baby has stopped crying and I can actually hear myself think.
But it turns out that this information is the opposite of reassuring. It means that for the next 3-12 months, your baby is going to cry non-stop regardless of what you do. I realize this is hard to imagine for parents who haven’t experienced it. But keep in mind, recordings of babies crying on a loop is actually form of wartime torture. This might be a myth circulated in colic baby support groups but trust me, it’s true.
So this is where the denial phase begins.
Not my baby. This can’t be colic. Have you seen the grimace on my baby’s face? Have you heard his cries?! He must be suffering! Someone do something!
Now, I feel like here is where I should mention that my husband and I are in healthcare. He is a physician and I’m a physician assistant. We’re normally level-headed, adamant believers in evidence-based medicine. We use reputable resources such as uptodate, pub med and professional organizations like the American Academy of Pediatrics or the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology for recommendations.
But when modern medicine failed to tell us what we wanted to hear, and the cries of our son penetrated our skulls deeply enough to jostle our brains up a bit, we turned to the second best place to get medical information — parenting websites and Google.
So, there we were in “fringe medicine” territory — a place neither of us ever imagined going.
If you’re not familiar with “fringe medicine” — it is a term used to describe unproven treatment options. If you delve far enough into this territory, you’ll find inhabitants such as anti-vaxxers, essential oil healers, and reiki masters.
And it is here where I learned to ignore my pediatrician’s advice (and disregard his 12 years of education plus fellowship in pediatric critical care) and join the hoards of desperate moms with crying babies who were cutting milk and soy out of their diets.
So for nearly 9 weeks, I continued my charade of denial and choked down my morning coffee with the vile creation that is dairy free/soy free creamer, a milky water of sorts.
As it turns out, my son did not and does not have a milk protein allergy and dairy free/soy free creamer is still the most vile creation in your grocer’s dairy aisle.
Onto phase 2.
This phase is a real bummer.
Remember all the hopes and dreams you had while gestating that little colic monster for nine whole months?
Some of my fantasies included getting beautiful newborn photos. I imagined he’d have cute, little pursed lips, a smooshy face and wrinkly skin. I booked ours well in advance.
Other fantasies included strolling our fancy bassinet stroller downtown, perhaps stopping for some brunch, taking him out for a quick feed and a burp. Aww.
The reality is that colic is the destroyer of all parental newborn fantasies. And it’s okay to mourn the loss of what you had wished for. As hard as it is to empathize in a time like this, try to keep in mind that there are far worse realities for parents out there. I know it is hard to be thankful for your healthy, screaming baby. And just trust me when I say, someday you will be so very thankful.
The most memorable moment of the disappointment phase actually occurred during a brief reprieve from the screams. Our little bundle had fallen asleep, I looked over at him in his peaceful slumber and turned to my husband through tears and said, “THIS is the one we get? Out of all the sperms that could have reached the egg — this is the one??” And in the moment, I actually meant it.
I even recall envisioning the little sperms swimming toward the egg and thinking, this little jerk pushed all of the good ones out of the way. Typical colic sperm move. Only thinking about himself before he even becomes a zygote.
Did I mention I was sleep-deprived?
The regret phase comes next. And this one is a REAL doozy.
I will never forget the day I slumped over my kitchen island and cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. My son was in his swing, screaming, of course. As I stood up in an attempt to compose myself, I looked out my back window and saw a lovely woman walking her dog on the path behind our house. My poor dog hadn’t been on a proper walk in months. Unless I wanted to subject the whole neighborhood to my son’s shrill cries, I thought it better we stay indoors.
I watched her walk into the distance wondered if she even appreciated the freedom she had. “Oh, how nice! Walk your dog past my house at a time like this,” I thought, bitterly.
And suddenly I was hit with the biggest pang of regret. It was as if every good thing that ever happened in my life flashed before my eyes.
And now, here I was, crying as loudly as my own baby, bracing my weak and exhausted body on this cold, hard slab of early 2000s beige/brown granite. Why did the previous homeowners pick this granite, anyway? And why didn’t I notice how ugly it was when we bought this house just 5 months ago? Perhaps it was just colic once again casting its hideous hue on my once vibrant life!
I wondered if I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I used to be able to walk my dog. I used to sleep at night. I used to take baths and plop one of those ridiculously expensive bath bombs into the tub. Now I’d never be able to justify the cost of a bath bomb for a 5 minute bath. (Realistically during colic you can expect a 60 second shower).
Life as I knew it was over but all I had experienced of my new life as a parent was colic. So, of course, I would be melancholy for my old life. If you’re in this phase, recognize that feelings of regret are normal! Who would electively choose this colicky life? NO ONE.
And while we’re at it, it’s okay to wonder if you actually love your baby. And this is not exclusive to colic baby parents. Some people fall in love with their baby immediately, and that’s so wonderful. Some of us need a little time to get to know each other. This is an enormous life change, further complicated when you have a baby who is a total nightmare to be around. So don’t feel bad if you’re not an “exploding heart eyes emoji” right now — it will come! It really, really will.
And last but not least, the final phase.
This phase is somewhat short lived and that is probably because most of us will spend a very long time cycling through the prior phases.
Some days you might feel like you’ve accepted your fate, but then a mom from your mommy group will come along and tell you how a spell caster cured her baby’s colic with an ancient spell and you’ll get sucked back into the denial (false hope) phase again.
If I had to do it all over again, I’d skip all the phases and move directly into the acceptance phase.
It would save me a lot of money on gadgets that don’t work.
I’d never have slugged down that disgusting coffee for weeks.
And I’ve have bypassed the complete uselessness that regret serves in our lives at any time.
The point to this story is that you will get through this. I promise. And your story will be uniquely yours. It’s okay to try every possible thing to help your baby, it’s okay if you never accept that it’s colic until it’s over. It’s okay if you give up dairy because it makes you feel a shred of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation. It’s okay to keep searching for answers. It’s okay if somedays you regret ever having a baby.
Just know that someday your baby will stop crying. You might not believe it at first but hours and then days will go by and they’ll have only cried when they’re tired or hungry or need a diaper change. And you’ll test out the waters and go out in public. You’ll finish a whole shopping trip at Costco, baby in tow and give your husband a high five on the way out. You’ll walk your dog again. Maybe you’ll even pass the lady who walked her dog by your house on that one horrible day and give her a smile. You’ll get family pictures taken and the photographer will comment on how good your baby is and you’ll laugh to yourself. You’ll even sleep again. Your baby will smile and laugh at you and giggle when you tickle him, give you open mouth kisses and splash around in the bath tub. And regret will never cross your mind again — until they’re teenagers, I hear.
The very best thing about colic is that every day after colic is better than the last. And you’ll never have to mourn the loss of the newborn stage because that was pure crap.