Fussy Butt

Sunday was rough. One of those days where my ears actually hurt and I craved silence (and a nice margarita). As I sat there debating what decibel range I was actually experiencing, it hit me: it's been a while since we've had one of those days. Praise the Lord.

You see, Garrison is what you might call a fussy baby. He comes by his nickname honestly. I typically describe him as "sensitive" because it sounds less like I'm complaining. Garrison was such a sweet little thing in the hospital. He rarely cried during those few days I was with him in the NICU. He basically slept in two or two and a half hour stretches. His only time awake was to eat. He'd often fall asleep eating. My biggest worry in the NICU (besides why is that blasted alarm going off again) was how to get 40 mL into his little mouth. And then we were discharged and everything changed. I had no idea what a change in environment and additional stimulation could do to a baby. We were discharged around 6 o'clock that Thursday evening. By 9 o'clock, I had a different baby. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

By midnight that night I'd already called the NICU because I was sure something terrible was wrong. He had to be dying to scream like that. They assured me that this was "normal" for adjusting to the outside world. It's like being born all over again, this time into the real world. They encouraged me that things would settle in a few days, just as soon as he could acclimate. But they didn't. I entered into some of the longest weeks.

I didn't really share much about that time with anyone. I was too afraid to share what I was experiencing for fear of sounding ungrateful for the gift I'd been given (and that I'd asked for for so long). I was also afraid I'd be judged as a terrible parent. I was the first to admit that I was out of my league, treading water, rather than swimming with power strokes, but I was terrified that others would look at this red-faced, screaming infant and wonder what kind of unfit mother was I that I couldn't even quiet my baby. There were times when I was actually afraid to go in public with him for fear that somehow, someway, it would get back to the courts and they'd take him away. It was that bad.

I felt those things, but the good news is that I don't feel those things anymore, or at least much less frequently. So I wanted to share this for the mother who is currently neck deep and not sure if she's going to reach the shore. Or for those who will experience similar things with their miracles that are coming one day. Think of this as a fist bump, a "solidarity, sister," and a hug. I've been there. It gets better.

As I mentioned, the first night we arrived in the hotel with Garrison was a rude awakening to what the next few months of life would be like. He was inconsolable. I'd blame it on being an utter novice with no clue what to do, except that my mom couldn't console him either. We left the hospital with a different formula (hey hospitals, can we maybe start that process while at the hospital? A slow transition?!?!?) and by the second feed he was gassy and refusing the bottle while at the same time desperate to eat. We kept the hotel room very dark as the NICU was semi-lit to dark most of the day. I did everything I could think of to eliminate stimulation, but nothing seemed to work. He went from a  baby that was lying quitely in a bassinet undisturbed most of the day, to a baby that would scream (we're talking fire alarm level) if I even thought about putting him down. But holding him often only quieted the crying to a desperate shrieking.

What I prayed was just acclimation to a new room and a new formula became the pattern of my days. Garrison cried more than he slept. Many parents experience "the witching hour," that late afternoon to early evening time when babies can become extremely fussy. Garrison's "witching hour" usually began about 9 or 10 in the morning and lasted until 10 to 12 at night. Many of the various parenting books discuss how important a sleep/wake cycle is, but I was honestly desperate for him to sleep during the day, just so he'd stop screaming. He only slept in my arms, and even then, it was restless. If I put him down for a nap, he'd be awake and screaming at full volume within ten minutes.

I mentioned that I read The Happiest Baby on the Block. I was so thankful for the book in many ways. It validated some of the things that I was experiencing and feeling. It also taught me soothing techniques and ways to combine them that we desperately clung to. But I also felt like crap while reading it because here was this book, all but promising a happy baby, and mine seemed like the saddest baby on the block. I frantically read Happiest Baby hoping that somewhere there was a key to unlock the happy baby from inside this very unhappy baby before me. My problem was that the author's testimonials always said how quickly the 5 Ss (Shhhing, Swaddling, Sucking, Side/Stomach, Swinging) worked, but for us, they did not instantly release the natural calming reflex that these parents experienced. Hours of shhing on top of white noise (or the vaccum or the tub faucet) and swinging and sucking while being tightly swaddled like a burrito sometimes did absolutely nothing. Most of the time it eventually worked, but I'd bet Garrison can go toe to toe for the longest hold out before giving into the 5 Ss' soothing ways.

I'm pretty sure I will remember until my dying day the day that Garrison cried from 12:30 until 10:00. It was almost completely nonstop. He screamed through his bottles. He even cried and moaned while sleeping. No fever, no rash, no vomit, no diarrhea... nothing that could explain his behavior. That day was torture. But unfortunately, it wasn't all that different from a lot of other days. Weeks 2-8 were pretty bad in all honesty. I felt like the absolute worst mother. A complete and total failure. I questioned my ability to parent. I wondered if he hated me. I worried that this was doing irreparable damage to our ability to bond. I had hundreds of thoughts pour through my head each day about infertility. It was hard to silence the voices that said infertility had been God's way of preventing me from becoming a mother because I was obviously terrible.

When others told me of their successes with some technique, it only made me feel worse. So your baby is sleeping 8 hours by 8 weeks, well cool, I'm trying to get mine to stop crying for 8 consecutive minutes. And the absolute worst was to be around someone I had confided a bit about my fussy baby. Inevitably he'd be peacefully sleeping at that particular time and I'd hear what a happy, sweet, good baby he was. Those comments made me feel even more terrible. He obviously only hated me. It was me and not him.

I know many people probably read this and think, "oh well, you didn't try X." We tried five different bottles (landed on Dr. Brown's), seven different nipples (ended up with Dr. B's preemie), five different swaddles/swaddle blankets (he specifically liked Halo, in fleece), six different pacifiers (landed on the Soothie). We tried gripe water, gas drops, Happi Tummi, clockwise belly rubs, and bicycle kicks. We tried prescription gas medication and eventually received a prescription for reflux. But here's the thing, even with Dr. Brown's promises of less gas, reflux, and colic, prescription medications for gas and reflux, and all of the 5Ss at our disposal, Garrison (and mommy) still cried. If I could get Garrison to eat without screaming I considered it a win. If I could quiet him in 15 minutes or less, I considered that a victory. Those weeks were hard.

I was finally coming to see the writing on the wall. These infant days were just not going to be fun. I could enjoy my snuggles when he was sound asleep, but I'd spend his waking minutes trying to calm him and soothe whatever was bothering him. And then slowly, ever so slowly things began to change. Around 8 weeks, he began to naturally fall back into his rhythm from his days in the NICU. He began to eat every three hours again, and I became more aware and intentional about a scheduled feeding and nap in between each feeding. Around 10 weeks (right when maternity leave ended) was the first time I thought things might be getting better. By 12 weeks, I was sure, he was definitely less fussy, it wasn't just a string of good days. Things were actually getting better. By 14 weeks, things were so much different. He still fussed far more than other babies, but we could play together. There were minutes I'd describe him as happy, and they might even outweigh the minutes I'd say he was sad/angry/frustrated.

Every week things have gotten a bit better. He'll be twenty weeks tomorrow, and the difference the last 6-8 weeks have made is astounding. He's still not what I'd call a happy baby. You can look at him the wrong way and set off a good, long bout of crying. Like I said, he's sensitive. A lot of things bother Garrison, and when something is bothering him, he lets you know. I've resolved myself to this fact. Garrison will probably never be an easy baby. Or like my friend Jennie says, some babies are just "spirited." They're either very happy or very unhappy - there is no in between. That's him. But I think the good news might be that what he loves, he will love fiercely, and I think despite our rough start, he just might love his mama. 

I know that a fussy baby would be a dream come true for a lot of you. Believe me, even in the thick of it, I didn't (and don't) take my miracle for granted. I'm not complaining. I just wanted to be honest about what I experienced. When other moms opened up to me and shared similar experiences I felt so much comfort and gratitude. So like I said, if that's you, if you're in the thick of it, if you're question whether you were meant to be a mother, it does get better. Hang in there.