I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. I don’t have the energy to write much about the kind of day we’ve had. It’s humbling to helplessly watch your child who cannot tell you what’s wrong as she screams, sobs, and suffers for hours, and the only recourse is to witness and provide companionship throughout. I cannot fix this. Somehow, I need to accept this and put aside my discomfort, to turn my attention in empathy toward this little being, to stop focusing on how all this makes me feel. It’s an invitation to practice tonglen… motherhood as a spiritual practice (I know a great book about that).
I thought we had discovered routines and methods that would work. Today proved me wrong. I am being challenged in ways I may someday understand enough to describe. Until then, I’ll let Karen’s words stand in for me:
Colic arrives just as you begin to think you have a grasp, a handle, a way of living in the new world. It tears that grip away from you. It steals every ounce of optimism, every hopeful conclusion. It shreds every fix and remedy. It leaves you with nothing to try or trust. Nothing but time.
Colic is the last thing you expect to give birth to. No one wishes it on anyone. But in its own ravaging wake, it leaves a gift. That’s the gift of not knowing. Not knowing when or how or if. Of surrendering to futility. Of succumbing to the tears. Of accepting the certainty of nothing but another day, and a different ending.
Everyone always outgrows colic. But I’m not sure anyone ever outgrows colic. Least of all the parent.
–Karen Maezen Miller, Cheerio Road
How I wish otherwise. I will say a service for your family.
My son never had colic, so we were lucky. But I remember plenty of shreiks that challenged me…why just the other day…Anyway, knowing you can’t fix everything for your child is necessary for your sanity. Any number of times I’ve said to my crying child, “Well, I’m sorry I can’t fix it, but I’ll give you a hug if you want one.” Sometimes he does and sometimes he gets angry. Of course, sometimes I get angry, and say something like, “I realize you’re angry and that’s fine. But as long as you keep screaming, I’m going to be in the other room.”
my son had colic. i once fell asleep while pacing up and down the hall with him on my shoulder. thank god the wall was there.
perhaps, subterraneanly, kathryn, you’re grieving your former life. allow me to make this suggestion. . .if that’s truue that you are, just let it happen, give it permission to happen. your situation with claire (my favorite aunt’s name) may be really tough. if it were me i would expect a lot of difficult days and when something good happened it would be a bonus. i guess that may be pessimistic but it really has helped me (and is now in a very terrible sitch) lower my expectations and get on with my sadness. i expect hell. if something better happens, yippee, huzzah. . . . KNOW from the bottom of your soul that THIS WILL CHANGE. it just is not changing yet in any perceptible manner.
all compassion coming to you all from me,kcd
. . . no words o’ wisdom (unless cat experience counts with infants 🙂 . . . just a hug and well wishes to you and your gorgeous strong willed girl . . . (i wonder where she got all that fire from???:)
I don’t know if you are breastfeeding, but as a huge proponent of complimentary medicine here is one that I heard about: If mother has a cup of camomile tea 1/2 hour prior to breastfeeding, some of the calming effects of the tea will sooth baby. I don’t know if this works, but if it doesn’t, at least it will calm momma while baby cries and cries.
Hugs to you!
Melissa