Colic. It’s a wonderful thing. [sarcasm]
Jaxon has now cried inconsolably for about an hour or two for two nights in a row. Last night tried me the most because Rich wasn’t here to keep the other two occupied while the wee one screamed his lungs raw.
Truly, it’s gas. I know it is. I try to help him get it all out, but sometimes even Mommy can’t console the babe. What I do know is that if he was on formula it would be worse. A lot worse.
I remember the colic evenings with the other two. Of course, I was hoping Jaxon wouldn’t suffer because he is strictly breastfed. How wrong, how wrong, how wrong. But, I must add that he doesn’t suffer as much as the other two did — not even close.
And before anyone goes spouting off dietary advice for me I’ll save you time — I am avoiding chocolate, spicy food, garlic, gassy food, and onions. However, I will not restrict my diet so much that I don’t enjoy life. I had to do that with gestational diabetes and I won’t do it for this. His digestive system will mature over the next few weeks and he will gain better muscle control and then bye-bye colic. What I am feeding him is better than any formula on the market no matter what I eat. Therefore, I will enjoy my meals even if he gets a bit crotchety in the evenings.
Poor Brianna was colicy and had acid reflux. Not a good combo. Her colic episodes lasted about 12 weeks. Jeremy was colicy and had jaundice. Also not a good combo. His colic episodes lasted about 3 weeks. Since Jaxon is on the boob I am hoping this only lasts a little while.
The third baby is easier than the first two. My Mom told me I would think so, but until I actually experienced it I wasn’t sure if she’d be right. She is right though. Even as he screams and stiffens his little body and turns his face blood red with infant rage I can calmly instruct the other two to do what we always do that time of night without losing my cool. I don’t feel helpless or trapped or like I’m suffocating (I felt all of this with the other ones). Still no signs of the satanic episodes commonly referred to as “postpartum depression” or “baby blues”. So I’m good there.
So Mr. Colic, I remember you. Your time is limited in this household. I can hang too. You might instill fear into the newest, freshest, inexperienced Mommy, but I am tough as nails, dear Sir. You can mess with us all you want, but I will win this battle, you demon of demons. Back off. You are messin’ with one tough Mama — and this ain’t my first time around the block.