I didn’t talk about it much. I couldn’t find the right words. Words to explain how blessed I felt, but also how utterly exhausted and frustrated I felt as well.
It took time…lots of time.
Garin, my 7th born child, was colicky. Painfully, ear-piercingly colicky. From his first full night outside the womb until he reached 4 months of age, he cried…a lot.
Couple this with the fact that for the first time ever I experienced postpartum depression, and you have a recipe for long, exhausting days and even longer emotionally-draining nights.
Many people would say,
“Is he always like this?”
And I would nod my head and choke back tears.
I felt absolutely helpless.
My oldest son was able to rock him to sleep from time to time. Oh, how I depended on Blake’s rocking ability!
I snapped pictures whenever I could catch Garin between crying jags. I didn’t want his photo album to be full of screaming baby pictures. I didn’t want colic to be the only memories I had of his early days.
I gave him Gripe Water. It helped. I was thankful.
But the one thing that kept me going was
Hope offered by another mother. One who had been there. One who didn’t gloss over the desperation I felt. One who told me…
Four months and her son was a different child. An amazingly happy, wonderfully smiley little boy.
I clung to her words…with every ounce of my being. I wondered if I could survive until then, but every day was one step closer. I prayed,
“Lord, give me the strength for one more day.”
As that 4 month mark approached, the crying became less, the smiles more. I began to see my little guy’s gorgeous eyes and crazy-cute dimple more and more.
And now, at 6½ months, I barely remember those days.
This isn’t a post about what to do when your child is colicky. This is a post about hope. The hope of time and encouragement and other mamas who have been there who are willing to share their stories.
What a blessing!