Strikes when least expected…
There are no known cures to man…
For centuries, missionaries in the Yucatan have whispered its name in terror…
“El Colico”
Most babies experience some form of colicky behavior. Ours has taken it pro, lately working on her technique two–three times a day.
Mostly it’s my wife and her titanium nerves of… well titanium (twice the durability!) who coaches Kaia through. But even she has a tipping point and the task of facing our mite-y dragon falls upon my trembling shoulders.
“Sweetie? Can you take her for a minute?”
Oh no. Here we go. Take a deep breath. Grab the beads, book and holy water.
“Okay babe. I’m going in. Do not enter this room no matter what you hear. I will command Satan to release her soul!”
Brave words uttered before dashing into the chamber.
Silence.
Then…
Howling, roaring, keening….
“BEELZEBUUUB!” I bellow. “RELEASE HER!”
…retching, thrashing, gurgling…
I hug the baby to my chest while she moans, thankful of my cleavage that allows a pocket of air for her to breathe.
Time passes.
So much coddling, shaking and bouncing do I undergo that my hands fuse together in a crabber’s claw so gnarly, I could be the envy of those champion geezers from Deadliest Catch.
I begin the questioning of this baby:
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Why does God hate me?”
“What have I done to deserve this?”
The questions quickly take a mundane turn:
“Who wants a little Zantac in their face?”
“Should we de-gas you with a thermometer?”
“Silencio, por favor charaap you face, mang!”
Wasted are our medicines, herbs, allergy-diets, white noise, wraps, wedges, binkies and swaddles. None seem to prevail against my weeping child.
Inevitably, we surrender to the commandments:
Thou shalt not sleep, but must hold the baby at all times, at the precise anti-puke angle from which she must never spew forth her life-sustaining sustenance.
Thou shall sway side to side, so much so, that even when no infant be present and thou art conversing with others, so must your swaying involuntarily continue.
Thou shalt banish from life all events that do not directly pertain to the feeding, soothing, burping or diaper removal for your angry sprout.
Amen.
Suddenly, there is a break in her cries and I flee the house, gripping the infant in my arms. Down the block we go.
Howling, roaring keening…
Cat, squirrel and raccoon scuttling for cover as we gallop along.
…retching, thrashing and gurgling.
The storm rages on. And on. And on.
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