This is not a post to invoke sympathy. This is a post to invoke awareness, understanding, and possibly some validity for parents of colicky babies about the realities of this very taxing experience of infancy.

When Owen returned home from the hospital and getting healthy from his bout with Viral Meningitis, he instantly started throwing up a lot. He was always a bit of a “spitty” baby, but that week, our lives changed. He was no longer just spit

Tonight, I sit here shaking with tears in my eyes wondering how I will ever be able to do another day like today. And know that I will definitely have another day like today tomorrow and the next and the day after that. And I have no clue when I’m going to have a better day. The fear of that inevitability and uncertainty at the same time is something I have a very hard time balancing. Anyone would.

I knew I wouldn’t get sleep when I had this sweet baby and I was ready for it (despite knowing it would make me crazy, because that’s what sleep deprivation does). I didn’t think I’d have a screaming baby for 7+ hours a day. I didn’t think I’d have such severe anxiety and post-trauma from the Meningitis that I have nightmares every night. I didn’t think my to do list of keeping this house running would feel so heavy that I’m suffocating. I didn’t think that people close to me would say and do things that make me feel like I’m a failure for feeling like I can’t manage my life better right now. Colic is a sinking feeling when you look around and see happy, smiley babies with rested, showered moms. I didn’t think it was possible for a baby to throw up every single hour around the clock and still gain weight (a blessing, really). I didn’t think that I’d go four days in a row, regularly, without taking a shower because I had to spend each 10-20 minutes of Owen’s sleep or calm to clean, do work for a consulting job I’ve kept during my “maternity leave”, fold laundry, eat something, brush my teeth, pump, look Delaney in the eyes and smile as big as I could to make her feel like I’m here with her for once, call insurance companies and gas companies and doctors to ask questions or resolve issues that have to be taken care of right now, or just plain stare at the wall in silence to recharge for when the crying commenced. I didn’t think colic would change who I am as a mother to my first born. I didn’t think I would have a four month old who I barely know because the majority of his waking hours are so dismal. I didn’t think I could do so much in my life while carrying a screaming baby. I didn’t think I could possibly feel this much guilt about everything all at once.

I just didn’t know what colic meant. And if you haven’t been in the thick of it, it’s impossible to.

Colic is questioning your baby’s health 24 hours a day. Colic is listening to unsolicited advice from anyone and everyone about what you *should* be doing to help your baby. Colic is walking in circles, bouncing, and tensing up trying to make it through another hour. Colic is not being able to think straight, if at all. Colic is a fog horn in your mind while you struggle to complete simple tasks. Colic is the fear of never getting your life back. Colic is feeding your baby every two hours in hopes that maybe’s he just hungry, knowing full well that once the feeding is over, he will scream, throw up, and turn red again and again without fail. Colic is cutting everything out of your diet, offering every medication, seeing every doctor, reading every piece of research, and asking every single question imaginable without an answer.

Colic becomes your life. Getting a break does not exist. Time heals, luckily, and sure, at the end of it all, this time is temporary. We, the mothers with a colicky child, are the lucky ones. This trial will end. And thank God for that. But if you are in the thick of this, know that you are doing everything you can and that it will get better. Know that you are stronger than you think. Know that whatever *break* you are taking for your own sanity is still work and I know that. Most people will not know that and it will hurt when they say it, but if you or someone you know is going through colic, I hope you find solace knowing that I do.

Colic ends and you will come out of this stronger and more compassionate for others than ever before. I had the gift of a stranger who spent hours with me via text and phone to bring me some sense of community during this dark time. If my story can do the same for one person, I will find so much joy in that.