This poor baby has clocked more hours crying in her short 6 month life than I have in my 42 years, and i'm a crier so thats saying something. She's screamed at home, in the car, at the store, visiting friends and family, at church, outside, on her belly, on her back, in her swing, her playpen, her bouncy seat, in the morning, afternoon and night, in my arms, my husbands's, my son's and daughter's.....and on and on.
Through it all I prayed. I prayed for peace for her clearly ailing belly, for strength as her mother to soothe her. I've walked, talked, rocked, swayed, sang and kissed. I've cried and cried and cried myself and I've thanked and yelled at God for putting us through this.
The real kicker here (and the reason I've resurrected this blog) was how *other people* would react to her crying. Most of the time I stayed secluded at home, afraid and insecure, but there were times it was necessary to leave the house and times when I needed to leave. And always I had team Becker (the littles) and the screamer in tow.
It seemed to my over tired, stressed out mind that everyone had an opinion about her crying. Good reactions were consistently outnumbered by bad. Always I'd be asked if she was hungry. As if I hadn't thought of that or somehow I had forgotten to feed the baby. Some people, women mostly, would "ohh ohh ohh" at me or "awww" at her. Some moved physically closer to us while others would move quickly away. There was the kind cashier at Joann fabric who reached across the counter, squeezed my arm and said simply "colic sucks, you're not alone." There was the Indian guy at Walmart who had the unfortunate privilege of ringing us up on two separate visits, who smiled at me and generously said it was good to see me again, when I knew it was not. There were nasty looks, heavy sighs and lots of crazy advice (mostly "feed the baby") But the worst, WORST experience I had was a woman who told me the crying was my "fault". "That baby's spoiled" she said, as I stood there swaying with screaming baby in my arms, two littles twirling around my legs and a basket of groceries beside me, "because you *never* put her down." It hit me to my core. All the stress had pushed my mothering insecurities to the surface. My nerves rubbed raw. Sleep deprivation and hormonal changes wearing on my ability to think and reason...she got to me. Big time. I had done this to my baby, myself and my family? It all seemed to fit and although I thought I was as beaten down and scared as I could be, she managed to make me feel responsible (not to mention incompetent) for it all too! Darker days followed. Until I mentioned what happened to a friend who immediately gave out a battle cry of rage and told me NO F*CKING WAY!
Millie is 6 months old today. She's not the screamer she was, at all. Now she's a smiley, happy girl who loves everyone and lights up a room with her joy. She loves her mommy and her mommy absolutely worships her. Her tummy has healed (we pray) and her health improved. I've gotten sleep and space and relaxation and my mind back.
So I want to offer some unsolicited advice to all you unsolicited advice givers (the negative advice givers, not the nice) if you *really* want to help - and I seriously doubt you do - then do my dishes, fold my laundry or walk my dogs because I can't, I'm busy holding my baby.
