There's Never A Perfect Time

I still can’t believe that my wife and I have been parents for six weeks. If you’d rather have that translated into adult speak, it’s a month and 2 weeks. Most people tend to get pretty frustrated at the whole counting in weeks thing. I can only share this, as a new parent of an incredibly fussy child: you have to celebrate the little things when you have a baby. She slept 2 hours straight? High five! You slept for 2 hours straight? Pop a bottle of champagne! Everyone is still alive and (somewhat) sane after dealing with a fussy baby for six weeks? Ticker tape parade!!!

We’ve been throwing the words ‘fussy’ and ‘colicky’ around a lot lately, like dollar bills at a strip club. Don’t get me wrong, our baby has moments where she’s content and sleeping, and she’s the sweetest thing ever. But those moments seem really small when you consider how little of them there can be in a 24 hour day. She seems to enjoy fussing. She also seems to hate sleeping, as if she’s already got the motto of “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” down pat. Sometimes, I swear she’s really saying, “I’ll sleep when you’re dead.”

In my experience so far, the condition known as ‘colic’ simply implies that your child is going to be very, very bitchy. She’s going to scream her head off around the same times (lovingly referred to as ‘the witching hour(s)’ around our house). You’re going to try a number of things to help her, which may work to some degree, but ultimately it’s up to her body to decide when she’s going to mellow. You will come to dread looking at the clock and seeing that the fussing time is about to arrive. You’ll want to hop into a DeLorean to avoid it, but there’s no escape from its clutches. You must weather this storm, be there for your baby, and learn that when she’s got you in a figure four leg lock and you are close enough to your partner, you tap the fuck out.

One of the awesome things about this is watching her grow. I know, I know, of course she’s going to grow. But there are days where I’ll leave for work and come back and it’s like she went up a size in her fitted New Era caps (stickers on, of course). We have a front row seat to participate and watch our girl develope into a person. The “easy” days of changing diapers and onesies will turn into days filled with learning, curiosities and questions that I’m going to need answers for. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, and I’ve done a decent job so far of focusing on the present. But this is just the beginning of the ride, we’re still on the part of the roller coaster where they take you up the big hill and you see just how high up you’re going to get. You know that eventually it comes to a crescendo, and then you hold on and try to keep your teeth from rattling in your head. No pressure at all, if you need me I’ll be hyperventilating into a bag in the corner.