She's Like the Wind

We went for our six week GP checks yesterday. My check involved answering the same few questions I have been asked numerous times - do my bowels work, does my bladder work, is everything ok 'down below' (I am amazed at how many of the medical profession refer to the 'front bottom' as 'down below' - were they off sick the day the proper names were taught at medical school?) and have I thought about contraception.

Olivia was as good as gold once her dirty nappy had been removed. Her check involved looking into her eyes, testing her reflexes and strength, inspecting her belly button nd checking for clicky hips. Our long time readers may recal that F_ and I both went a bit green when the clicky hips thing was done during her newborn check so I judiciously looked away at that point. Everything was fine apart from her belly button. I had wanted to mention this to the GP anyway as it has continued to weep since her cord fell off. Both the midwives and health visitor had seen it and told me to get the GP to check it if it hadn't healed by the time we saw him. Apparently she has something called 'umbilical granuloma' which means there is a bit of umbilical cord tissue left behind which isn't healing. It need to be cauterised with Silver Nitrate so the GP gave me a prescription for a Silver Nitrate kit and I have to get the practice nurse to administer it tomorrow morning. As there are no nerve endings in this area this should be a painless procedure for Olivia, although Mummy is likely to turn green as usual.

As the GP hadn't done a weight check we also went along to the health visitor clinic to get Olivia weighed. The health visitor from last week was obviously so traumatised by Olivia's human waterfall impression last week that she had to have an emergency vacation so it was a different woman this week - given our performance last week this was probably for the best. Anyway, she has put on just a reasonable 4oz after the epic 14oz last week so it looks like she isn't turning into Jabba the Hutt just yet and weighs a cuddly 10lbs 3oz. Today we've had a foray into 0-3 month clothing which is still too big for her but less ridiculously so than before.

Here she is with Daddy - as you can see they look very much like each other, sharing as they do a common haircut :) Luckily Olivia doesn't have a goatee.

I've got Olivia some Gripe Water to help her bring up her wind and maybe make her a bit less grumpy. I'm sure when we were kids Gripe Water was the kid's equivalent of gin but now, in the modern age of binge-drinking, I find it is alcohol free.

Here is Olivia proving that her lungs work and that when you remove her dummy you open up a tear in the space/time continuum in the middle of her face.

Pain and Anger in the Howling Dark

When I got in last night, K___ revealed that Olivia had declined to sleep all day and was in a crotchety mood. She had been a bit of a rat bag the night before too. Cue five hours of hell with very little time off. That’s for me. K___ had had it for muuuuuuuuch longer.

Those of you without much experience of this - either because you're child-free or you're one of those lucky bastards with nicely behaved babies - will probably find it hard to understand how mentally and physically debilitating it is to have a deeply distressed child in your arms for any length of time. Welcome then, to the delights of a child with colic.

What is colic? Well, no one really knows, which is obviously brilliant news. Some definitions I’ve seen say simply that it’s ‘more than three hours of continuous crying’, in which case she’s got it. Others say it’s a pain in the gut – the word is etymologically related to ‘colon’ - perhaps related to trapped wind. One source I found on the Interwebulator simply suggested it was a word used by paediatricians when they just don’t know what in the name of buggery is wrong.

But what causes it, I hear you say? Well, they don’t really know that either. It may be a response to an over-stimulating world, it may be trapped wind. Apparently it might even be an attempt to communicate that ‘something is wrong’, although that seems like specious and circular reasoning to me.

What symptoms are there then? Mainly, it’s the screaming. Screaming that goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on pretty much without change for hours, unless it is to find some even more distressing sound to tear holes in Mummy and Daddy’s hearts. Sometimes changing the position of the baby will stop her for a moment or two, just long enough for you to dare to hope she might settle, before starting again, as though this is some sort of Sysiphean torture.

The fact is that ‘torture’ is an extremely appropriate word. It’s torture for Olivia and it’s torture for us. K___ and I have both been brought to tears by it. When you know that your baby is warm and fed and in a clean nappy and doesn’t want to suck on a soother or a finger and turns purple every time you put her down, when you have tried all of these things and she is still in acute distress, the sense of helplessness and the feelings of frustration and failure are overwhelming.

It can also make you irritable. In fact, not just irritable. On a couple of occasions, the despair has got far closer to anger than either of us would have liked. You hear of people who get to the end of their tethers and hurt their babies. Whilst I obviously don't condone it at all, I can understand where that anger comes from and it might only take a lack of maturity and self-awareness that splits those people from the majority of us who control themselves.

We’re lucky. We both recognise when we’ve reached breaking point, and we know to give the baby to the other, or put her down and go into the other room or put her in the buggy and go for a walk.

Sometimes, worn down by the grind of sensory overload and sleep deprivation, we have both briefly wondered whether we have made a mistake in having a baby and yearned for life b.c. (before crying). We've sat and talked about it and we've both admitted having felt these negative emotions. We both feel like we’re bad parents and bad people for feeling like this.

It turns out, from talking to colleagues and friends, and reading up on it, that the sort of people who think these awful things are called ‘parents’ and it’s far more common than you - or at least ‘we’ – had imagined. It is a big relief to know that other people understand and that you come out of the other side of it.

However, none of this guilt and angsting helps the tiny girl with the purple face and the Marshall Amplifier screams very much. It merely stops another (much worse) problem being added on top. She’s still in distress.

When I talked about it with the admin assistant in my team, I asked, 'So, what did you do when your kids had colic?'
'Drop kicked them off the balcony,' she said.