Parenting Insights
Updated: December 17, 2020
Originally Published: May 9, 2016
Five hours after his arrival into the world, our newborn, Noah, unleashed a piercing wail. He was latching onto breastfeeding well, appeared healthy, and had even soiled his diaper. We took every precaution, even checking for any hair wrapped around his tiny limbs. Yet, nothing seemed to alleviate his distress.
Swaddling him? He screamed. Cradling him against my bare chest? More screams. My partner, Alex, tried everything—rocking, shushing, bouncing—nothing worked. After an hour of relentless crying, I reached out to the nurse.
“Our baby won’t stop crying,” I admitted, feeling a wave of humiliation wash over me. “Is there anything you can give us to help?”
“You could try Mylicon,” the nurse suggested, her disinterest palpable as she moved on to other tasks.
“Could you bring me some?” I inquired, desperate.
“That’s not how it works,” she replied curtly.
Eventually, Alex discovered a comforting position: holding Noah in a football hold, his head cradled in one hand while his body dangled. It seemed to bring him some peace. His eyes finally closed, and we managed to catch a few moments of sleep after three exhausting hours.
Three hours, we quickly learned, was just the beginning for Noah. Night after night, he cried incessantly. We tried Mylicon, but it didn’t make a difference. We massaged his tummy, bicycled his legs, and explored every gas relief option available. We even ventured into homeopathic remedies and purchased a baby swing, but nothing worked. Both Noah and I were often left in tears.
During nursing, he would suck, pull away, and scream repeatedly. I found myself counting his sucks between cries, pleading silently for him to nurse a bit longer. His frequent distress made me question his nutritional intake.
“I might as well quit breastfeeding,” I sobbed to Alex. “I’m just hurting him.”
“You can do this,” he reassured me. “It’s not your fault.”
Outside of his crying spells, Noah was a delightful baby. Friends called him a dream to care for—easygoing, lovable, and seldom overwhelmed. But the screaming was reserved for home, especially during the night.
What does one do with a baby who won’t stop crying? In our case, we handed him to Daddy. Alex became the master of the football hold, bouncing on a yoga ball while reading film reviews online for hours on end. I’d briefly rouse to nurse before retreating back to sleep while Alex developed impressive arm muscles.
A visit to the pediatrician led to the disheartening diagnosis: colic—which translated to: We have no idea what’s wrong, so just endure it.
I was certain something was off with Noah. I had seen glimpses of his happiness and didn’t buy into the notion of colic or the idea that babies cry to exercise their lungs. With Noah strapped to my chest, I researched incessantly.
Eventually, I came across information suggesting he might suffer from silent reflux. The cradle cap that covered his body was likely a sign of an allergy, potentially to dairy or soy proteins in my milk.
Armed with newfound knowledge, I returned to the pediatrician, baby in tow, waving research papers. After observing our nursing pattern, she conceded, “Alright, he might have reflux. Let’s try this medication.”
We began treatment with rising hopes, believing our baby would return to his former self. That night, Alex bounced Noah again for hours while I heard the familiar squeaking of the yoga ball mixed with his cries. I started nursing him upright in a carrier and he slept in a swing to keep his head elevated. The side-to-side motion seemed to ease his discomfort, and he eventually co-slept full-time to nurse as often as he needed. The doctor was becoming concerned about his weight gain.
I eliminated all dairy and soy from my diet—no cheese, no butter, no soybean oil, and no soy sauce. It took time for these changes to take effect. Meanwhile, we tried another medication, but it transformed my once-cuddly baby into one who rejected touch. I discontinued that option after a day. Another medication led to an allergic reaction that landed us in the emergency room. Finally, I insisted on a specific treatment recommended by specialists in infant reflux. Our pediatrician agreed, and miraculously, the screaming stopped. Noah was four months old, and Alex had gone without a good night’s sleep since his birth.
I remained dairy and soy-free until Noah reached nine months, avoiding dairy for a full year. I discovered the best substitutes for milk, developed a dislike for fake cheese, and endured countless restaurant visits where I had to explain Noah’s allergies in detail. Relatives were skeptical until they witnessed him scream due to a misunderstanding about butter. Their opinions changed quickly after that.
Now at 6 years old, Noah is far removed from his colicky days. He remains cheerful and vibrant, though he still has intolerances to milk and gluten. Our subsequent children also experienced colic, but we recognized it as reflux and treated it immediately—each episode lasted only about two weeks instead of the four months we endured with Noah.
We survived the heartache of seeing our child scream, the toll it took on our sanity, and my own self-doubt as a mother. I cried often and struggled to enjoy my baby; colic robbed us of precious time. It made us irritable, worried, and fearful. But we persevered. Other mothers face similar challenges, and it’s crucial to carve out moments for self-care amidst the chaos. While we didn’t seek help at the time, I now regret not reaching out to others who would have been willing to lend a hand, even for a short while.
Eventually, the storm passed. Colic is not a permanent state for most babies. It typically subsides by four months, regardless of whether there’s an identifiable cause. It’s perfectly normal to feel resentment during this phase. I did. If the cries become overwhelming, it’s okay to step away for your own well-being. It’s natural to grieve the idealized version of the baby you envisioned—a calm, cuddly little one. I certainly did. But just when I thought I could not bear it any longer, things changed for the better.
Colic is indeed a formidable challenge for new parents.
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