kiwords

The thing about colic, I thought as the morning sun hit my burning eyes, is that the rest of the world won't cut you a break, no matter how little sleep you got last night. Life goes on, and so I slowly peeled myself away from the sleeping form of Sophia and dragged myself out to the kitchen. I heard the boys' voices making their raucous way up the stairs, and I closed my eyes, feeling both incapable of dealing them and sick-guilty for feeling that way.

The thing about colic, I thought last night, as I walked and walked and walked and rocked and bounced and swayed and hummed and sang and walked, is that you can't do anything while you wait for it to pass. It's hard to hear the TV over the crying, you can't sit down at the computer, and there is no way on this earth I could have focused even on a magazine. It leaves my mind too free, in the dark of the night, to think about all the other things I can't change either. I walked and walked and thought about my parents, and their parents, and Clay's parents and the pain each of them faces. I wished I could save Mom and Dad from having to deal with all the losses that come with the job of walking with their parents toward the end. To take away the grief that smacks them down again and again, leaves them with that stunned sadness. I wished I could spirit Connie and Larry away from the realities of chemotherapy, which is a stupid thing to wish, when it is saving Larry's life. It just seems like such a harsh savior, and I wish they could be here instead, Larry soaking up the sun on the porch, Connie sitting on our couch, holding Sophia, and soaking up granddaughter.

The thing about colic, I thought as I tried to convince Clay to leave me to this mid night journey, is that it leaves each of us alone in one way or another. Clay had done more than his share of hours of walking, and he had to get up for work in the morning, and so I told him to go to bed, go sleep, there's no reason for us both to be awake. And I meant it, I really did, except he couldn't believe me because tears were pouring down my cheeks like melting wax, and as much as I wanted to save Sophia from the misery that tied her into a writhing knot in my arms, Clay wanted to save me too. And nobody, not one of us, could have what they wanted most.

The thing about colic, I thought as I brought Sophia to my shoulder, is that I have nothing to answer this need. It's my job, as mom, to find the answers. But I don't have any. And so I walked and walked and walked and rocked and bounced and swayed. One hand patted the tight concave of her back, her legs scrabbled against me and her downy head bobbed against my shoulder. My head echoed with her breathy wail until I didn't know if I was hearing her cry or remembering her cry, but I knew it would take hours for the sound of it to drain away.

The thing about colic is that it just...is.