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I’ll be honest: I did not find joy in my newborns. It’s a difficult truth to share, but I faced immense challenges with my first child due to colic, a term that describes persistent, unexplained crying. It’s a topic rarely discussed, and it was my only reality until the arrival of my second child.
From the moment my first daughter was born, she screamed. It wasn’t just a simple cry; it was an all-consuming wail that could last for hours, day or night, for nearly seven months. There seemed to be no cause, and it was utterly distressing. After long days, I would drive alone to the store while my husband stayed home with her, needing to escape the relentless noise, even if just for a moment.
I often felt like I was failing her. “I must be doing something wrong. This can’t be normal.” I tried everything—absorbed all the tips and advice from others, read countless articles, and tested various theories. With every suggestion that worked for someone else but not for us, my sense of inadequacy deepened. Caring friends and family would offer advice, but it only fueled my self-doubt. Colic has no clear reason behind it: “Maybe your milk isn’t sufficient, try formula” (even though she was gaining weight and the doctor assured me she was thriving). “You need to be stricter with her routine” (despite my attempts to stick to every schedule imaginable). “Start bedtime earlier” (even when we began as early as 5 PM and didn’t manage to calm her until midnight). “Babies only cry if something is wrong; are you sure everything’s okay?” (I took her to the doctor so many times, hoping for an explanation, only to hear that she was healthy).
As the months dragged on, I stopped wanting to talk about it; it became too complicated to explain and only added to my loneliness. I felt like I was losing my mind when she wouldn’t cry around others, making it seem like I was exaggerating the situation. I began to avoid having guests over, feeling as though I was left with all the difficult moments while they witnessed only her fleeting calmness. It was a psychological battle.
Even though I understood logically that it was random and unexplainable, the self-doubt became deeply ingrained. When she finally started sleeping, it felt like a new beginning, but the shadow of that experience lingered. She had her share of typical rough nights, and I would panic, fearing the return of those colicky days. It felt like PTSD. Now, three months into my second baby’s life, that fear has finally started to fade. I didn’t recognize just how deeply I had carried it with me. I approached my younger daughter with that anxiety; during her first two months, I panicked every time she cried, convinced it was happening all over again, even though she was simply being a “normal” baby. I struggled to differentiate between normal fussiness and the extreme crying I had once known.
However, by the third month, I began to realize that my second daughter didn’t have colic. It was just a matter of chance; I was feeding her the same way, using the same sleep strategies, and yet I had a completely different baby. I had always preached that “every baby is unique” after becoming a mom, but now I truly understood that concept.
I didn’t fail my first daughter. I endured. Even as I write this, it sounds dramatic, but it was my reality, and I handled it to the best of my ability.
As with many extreme experiences in life, it’s hard to convey and even harder for others to fully grasp what it’s like to care for a “difficult” (read: colicky) baby unless they’ve been through it themselves. People often say to cherish every moment of parenthood while I cried, burdened with guilt for not savouring it. I yearned for someone who had faced the same challenges to guide me through. So, I share this with you: You’re not at fault. There’s nothing to “fix.” It’s okay not to relish every moment. This phase won’t last forever, even though it feels eternal. You will make it through, and it’s perfectly fine to cry. What helped me most was simply hearing from friends and family (and our pediatrician), “I’m sorry. You’re doing a wonderful job.” So, if you need to hear it: I’m sorry. You’re doing an amazing job.
Although she still has her challenging moments, my colicky baby has grown into an extraordinary toddler.
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Summary
This article shares the author’s candid experience of parenting a colicky baby, detailing the emotional struggles and feelings of inadequacy that arose during that challenging time. It emphasizes the importance of understanding that colic is unpredictable and not the parents’ fault. The author reflects on how the experience impacted her approach to her second child and offers reassurance to those going through similar struggles.
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