A new word has entered my
vocabulary: colic. It’s like a fiendish intruder bringing misery, anguish and pain
into our lives. Our son Myles is one of an estimated 20 per cent of all
newborns thought to develop the condition. A colicky baby is not just windy, he
or she irritable, unsettled, fractious and unhappy. When a baby with colic
cries, the noise cuts right through you, wrenching at your heart. Parents feel
powerless, bewildered and guilty. I read a post from Jaimie Oliver, the chef,
saying that he’d resorted to driving around for hours at night in an attempt to
calm their colicky baby. But nothing seems to work. We’ve tried three types of kids’
medicine, including a herbal mixture of rhubarb and soda, but with little tangible
improvement. “The first person who comes up with a cure for colic will win the
Nobel Prize,” said our paediatrician. “One of my children suffered from colic
and I was in exactly the same boat as you. I can recommend a couple of things
to try, but there’s no guaranteed they’ll work. The good news is that colic
usually only lasts for 12 weeks.” Twelve weeks! Lack of sleep frays your
nerves. “Why can’t I do anything?” implored my wife at 3am one morning. “I just
feel so useless.” For the past seven weeks (Myles is now nine weeks) we have
approached night-time with a sense of dread. How many times will he cry? Why
does he arch his back like that? Will he, and us, manage to get any sleep? As
the skies darken, our cherubic young son turns into a tense, flaying dervish.
We’re rechristened him Jekyll & Hyde. Our community nurse suggested tightly
swaddling Myles at night. He broke free. Then she said it was imperative to
keep him awake during the day. Splash some cold water on his face, remove his
clothes, open the curtains and blinds, she suggested. We followed her
instructions. Myles, naked and wet, lapsed into a blissful sleep. We’re tried
bathing him at night just before bed. Vina has changed her diet. No
improvement. One night I didn’t go to bed at all, just rocked him on sofa until
dawn. My head felt like concrete the next day. The past nine weeks has been a
period of intense highs and terrifying lows. I’ll never forget our first
morning together at home, dancing to “Another Day In Paradise” by Phil Collins.
But I feel sick remembering the sound of his wheezing when he caught his first
cold (from me) – and the look of sheer dread written on his mother’s face. The
last few weeks have taught me that despite his apparent vulnerability Myles is
a very strong-willed child. There is a toughness in him which inspires me. Two
days ago he gave me his first smile. I whooped for joy. Every day is a new
milestone, a benediction. Soon, I hope, his colic will be a distant memory, but
not that smile. I cherish his clear-eyed stare, his koala hugs, feet that can
curl like a fist and those bizarre animal noises. But it’s that smile,
that divine spark, I treasure.
This is what William Blake wrote some
230 years ago:
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguile
A Cradle Song
