Colic & Me

I have a headache.

It's from vodka. 

These days, that's not unusual.

My three month old son has colic.

He cries. And cries. And cries.

It's easy to write off another baby's whining as "just crying"..

But when it's your baby, it's soul shredding.

Somewhere in those hours of crying you come to realize that you are a bad mother.

You are inadequate. You are not enough.

You catch yourself saying things like, "I know you hate me. But maybe if we rock/bounce/stroll/sing/swaddle you'll be happy." 

You'll realize you shouldn't believe your kid hates you, but somewhere in your heart at that very moment you'll believe it anyway and it will hurt. 

I am aware that I'm not a bad mother. I am aware that I am entirely adequate as a mother. But during those moments, my soul is being worn thin, and I can't be aware of anything but that. 

I know that every day there will be several hours of feeling this way.

I know there are somedays where I will feel this way all day, but I do my best not to think about that. 

My chest is covered in scratches from him clawing at me.

He does it because he is in pain.

And when he's in pain, it hurts me on a level that is indescribable. 

So I cope with vodka. 

Every night. 

After he falls asleep for the evening, when I know he won't need to be fed until I'm sober. 

This motherhood thing - it ain't easy.

People tell me, "Oh, gosh. I don't know what I'd do with a colicky baby. I can't stand it when my baby cries even a little."

Heads up - I don't know what to do. I'm just an exhausted mother. I get depressed. I drink. I wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

It sucks. But it's true.