Carrie Link

Continuation from yesterday...

Time for the toddler to go to bed. Hard to sleep in the 850 sq. ft. house with all the crying, especially since they share a room. The baby and I leave every night at bedtime.

"WAAAAAAAAAAA!" from the backseat.

Eyes so tired, mind so numb, I observe my own driving as though I'm playing a video game.

"I wonder if I'll hit those cars over there," I think, not caring what the answer is. It doesn't matter to me one way or another.

We arrive at Fred Meyer. Biggest carts, biggest aisles, biggest store. In goes the whole infant car seat and away we go.

Back and forth, determining a pattern for the night, to occupy my mind while I nearly run through the store. Can't stop to buy anything, slowing the cart for a second will start the crying again. Shopping is for another time. We are not here to shop, we are here to shove this baby into silence.

Every night is the same. Nothing distinguishes one from the other besides the weather.

"After three months it gets better," everyone tells me.

Colic, they say, unconsolable crying that goes on for more than 3 hours a day. Yep, 21 more than 3 hours a day.

After three months it goes from inconsolable crying to requiring constant consoling.

Changing my diet, homeopathic tablets, peppermint, nothing. Nothing soothes this child other than the jiggling, and something in his mouth, my boob or a pacifier.

None of the milestones I'm looking for are being met. Sitting up, making sounds, even trying to roll over.

Back to the pediatrician I go.

"There is something wrong with this child! He is miserable! I am miserable!"

"Let's give him 'til 6 months, then see," he tries to reassure.

I knew in my gut that waiting will not make a difference. There is something not right here. I don't know what, but I know it's big. Too comatose to argue or advocate, I agree. We'll give it some more time.

The scene repeats itself at 6 months, 9 months, 12 months and even 15 months.

At 18 months this child does not say baba, mama, daddy, up, nothing. There are no utterances from this child's mouth, only cries. There is no crawling, no scooting, no creeping.

This child is in my arms with a pacifier or bottle all the time. No wonder this child doesn't talk or walk, I try to convince myself, all the while knowing deeply that the problem is much worse than I've let myself think.

I go back to the pediatrician again. New-found resolve that I'd better get a different answer this time, or I'm taking this kid to a whole different doctor.

The doctor beats me to the punch.

To be continued...