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The Eruptions of Parenthood


I call him Vesuvius because I can't pronounce the name of that volcano in Iceland. Just before Michael erupts, he starts to stir...his face gets as red as lava and--BOOM!-- out comes this piercing, uncontrollable wail. Colic is a miserable, miserable thing.

What IS colic anyway? No one has really been able to explain it to me. What I do know is that there's often no consoling baby. I have tried it all with Michael -- rocking him...bouncing him chamomile tea...singing lullabies...turning on the TV. But he has no interest in "Keeping up with the Kardashians" at 3:00 a.m.

That's when colic is worst -- in the middle of the night...and not just for baby. I'm not looking for pity here, but it's no picnic for mom either. Imagine trying in vain to ease your child's pain, sometimes for hours at a time, while the rest of the world is sound asleep.

Last night was especially bad. I'd spent the whole day out with my 5-year-old daughter Daniella. We couldn't get a taxi home because the streets were blocked off. We wound up having to walk in the heat for miles.

I was absolutely exhausted when I finally laid down to sleep. Then Michael started screaming. This time, I started to cry right along with him. My husband was very sweet. Instead of calling me crazy, he listened patiently and consoled me by reminding me that this will pass soon enough. Then he said, "just wait until he starts to drive."

I guess that's parenthood -- worrying about life's eruptions. Luckily, the dormant periods outnumber the active ones.