We had waited a decade for our beloved daughter. I guess I had a romantic view of motherhood. I thought that because our child was so wanted, I would be able to comfort her in an instant and soothe her to sleep. I hadn’t heard about colic at all. In the antenatal classes, we had been told that babies sometimes got a little wind, and I was under the impression that as long as they were burped after a feed, all would be well. The first signs of colic appeared the week we were in the maternity ward after her birth. Elizabeth was hard to settle, and seemed ill at ease. I was up every night with her, trying to soothe my distressed newborn, especially after feeding. One evening, the nurse took her to the nursery so I could have a sleep. She was brought back to me, her knees raised and screaming. “I think you have a windy baby,” the nurse said. She said some babies have more wind than others, and difficulty bringing it up.
I went home, and the colic only got worse. After every breast feed, she would scream, and nothing could comfort her. We tried every preparation on the market, to no avail. I changed my diet, but it didn’t help. We would hold her in our arms, feeling helpless for hours at a time. We weren’t prepared. We thought that as parents we would be able to comfort our distressed baby. The week before she was born, I became intensely attuned to her and was aware of her sensitive nature. When I had thought of my baby’s birth, I had visions of a hospital room filled with people come to celebrate her arrival and visitors streaming through the door at our home, stews under their arm.
My boundaries tightened; this was not what I wanted, nor what my child needed. I told folks that we would contact them in time, but for the last week of pregnancy, I stayed at home and rested. I cancelled most visits from people, and when I went into labour and had my little girl, Tommy rang four close friends. They came to see her a few hours after her birth, and spoke in whispers to our child. Their presence enhanced the experience. A few noses were out of joint, but tough! Certain people wanted a carnival atmosphere, and were interested only in their own involvement. My child needed peace and calm.
When we got home with our colicky, sensitive baby, the world came calling. Some visitors were a blessing, helping in practical ways, with things such as housecleaning and bringing meals. They also took over with baby when I was ready to drop. Others wanted to chat over coffee, expecting my world to have returned to its prior state. They were unawares that my world would never return to a state as before. Elizabeth would be screaming in distress in my arms, and I would be trying to hold a conversation with my visitors. It was no use. A colicky baby needs her parent’s complete attention. She needed to be soothed, rocked and stroked when those dreadful pains hit. We determined to provide a soothing environment, resplendent with soft lighting provided by candles, aromatherapy and a sound machine which mimicked my heart beat and the swishing of my womb.
Life outside this child had to stop. No phone conversations or socializing. Just love and understanding. It was hugely stressful to feel so impotent. I had to surrender to motherhood in its entirety and spent weeks in my dressing gown. I slept when she slept, and became attuned to her rhythms. A warm bath with lavender essential oil helped to soothe my babe, and Bowen therapy really assisted to dispel the wind caught in her gut and bowel. The community nurse was so concerned about my little family, she would stay at my home after her working day had ended just so I had someone there. She remarked that Elizabeth had the worst colic she had ever seen. Snide remarks were sometimes bandied about, such as colicky babies being that way because of a failing in a parent’s emotional nature. I was also informed when she screamed that she was hungry. Of course, feeding a child in the grips of a colic attack only compounds the problem.
My darling is now six months old, and those days are behind us. She is a confident, laughing bundle of joy and vigour who adores being held by all within our circle. Having colic has actually brought us closer and we have a very deep relationship with our child. We went through months of discomfort together, and she knows we shall absolutely be there for her throughout the years ahead, helping her to weather any storm. She trusts us to love and be devoted to her no matter what. Elizabeth understands that the world shall stop when she needs our complete attention, and she shall grow up with the tranquillity she requires. To all those sleep-deprived, stressed new parents, colic shall pass, and you will be left with a deep bond with your baby.
We had our daughter, Elizabeth Rose, after a decade of operations and several IVF attempts. We dreamt of her for so long, and never gave up hope that she would come to be.