Monday, August 04, 2008
Not so much, this Colic
See? Gracie doesn't fear the colic . . .
As new parents, Our Man and Woman in LA have become nervous about a lot of things that didn’t even register before about seven weeks ago. Things like hiring babysitters and post-partum doulas, what store has the best selection of diapers after 10 p.m., whether we can eat our dinners before LA Baby comes to.
Oh, yes. And Colic. Whatever the hell it is, we fear it the way we fear McCain winning the White House.
For the uninitiated, Colic is a malady (or illness, or sensibility – I’m not really sure) that affects children between the ages of 2 weeks and, I’m thinking, 17 years. Babies are fussy all the time, they cry for no reason, growl and complain, and are generally difficult to please.
At this point, Our Man in LA will take a dramatic pause to recognize the number of cheap, easy and funny jokes that he is not posting. You know the ones. Yeah, just revel in them.
Anyhoo, it’s because of this fear that Our Man and Woman in LA had a new kind of dread a couple of weeks back. Little Gracie was exhibiting symptoms of this so-called Colic thing. She was fussy when we put her down. She cried for no reason, refused food from time to time, woke up in the middle of the night screaming (perhaps dreaming of that McCain White House?), and so on.
We were defeated. Because according to the books, if a baby’s colicky, you’re stuck with a miserable period of . . . well, I think about 25 years. Give or take, you understand.
So for days there, we were walking around, miserable. Un-consolable. Until the day that our post-partum doula showed up for a late afternoon/early evening session with Grace. When the baby miraculously went down without a fuss, Our Man in LA went to investigate.
It went like this –
Our Man in LA: You got her down?
Doula: Yes. Easy.
Our Man in LA: Really, because she’s been colicky.
Doula: She’s not colicky.
Our Man in LA: But she is. Every night she fusses and –
Doula: Oh, that. I’ve been meaning to tell you. You know the burping? Like when you burp your daughter.
Our Man in LA: Sure.
Doula: You suck at it.
Doula: She’s got a bunch of leftover gas. Just burp better.
And so ended our bout of colic.
Editor’s Note: No, the Doula didn’t tell me that I sucked at burping, though she certainly would have been right. It just makes a better story there, but I don’t need to sully the doula any further for my silly jokes. Of course, having this experience replaced my fear of colic with a fear of burping my daughter either too hard or too lightly. So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.