We have yet again, for another day, survived the witching hours. This is the period of time from midnight to 3:30 a.m. when my sweet angel suffers from his worst colic. I’m not posting a picture because it would be sad.
Daniel can be inconsolable during parts of this time. We spend those moments walking the kitchen floor, having conversations. Daniel’s part of the conversation is at the worst blood curdling screams and, for the past two weeks, little wet tears. At the best, his part consists of whimpers and frets.
I try to keep my side of the conversation more hopeful. This was not necessarily the case the first couple of days when my side of the conversation mostly consisted of lots of deparate prayers along the lines of “Please help me, God” and my apologies for my inadequacy as a mother. We’ve now worked into a routine where my side of the conversation has two major themes.
First, I emphasize to Daniel that things will indeed get better. I apologize to him for how difficult it is to be a little baby. He was forced to leave his comfortable, safe waterworld to enter this scary, cruel world that he doesn’t understand. Poor little babies are born before things are really working properly, so digestive systems can be rough at best. And little ones can’t understand pain or discomfort. In general it just kind of stinks to be a baby. I assure Daniel that it will get better and that we have lots of fun ahead. There are so many things that we will do together that will be good times.
Second, I try to assure Daniel that he actually has a good life, although it’s hard for him to believe it sometimes. He has parents that love him and would do anything for him. He has grandparents and great-grandparents, great aunts and uncles and cousins that all love him and care for him. He also has lots of “aunts” and “uncles” that are very special and love him very much. There is just so much love in this world for him. He will also always have someone to console him and care for him. He’s always given immediate attention, even if all that can be done is to hold him and sympathize. I tell him that although it is hard to imagine, there are little babies in the world that aren’t loved like that or that are neglected. He will never know what that is like.
I know Daniel doesn’t understand my side of these conversations, but hopefully he can sense the gist of it. By God’s mercy, he won’t remember these trying, confusing months, but the love and attention that he gets will live on and influence him for the rest of his life.
