I was in the shower trying to wash out the sleep that has been caked in the corner of my eye every morning for six years now having a mildly coherent conversation with my husband when he says, “Well, you always bring up the fact that you had colicky babies.”

It’s a grand thing that I was only half awake or I would have had some snippy remark that would have eliminated constructive marital conversation for days. Instead, he left the room and I thought about what he said.

By golly, he was right. I do that. I can justify it a multitude of ways, but I, in short, I am constantly searching for someone who can relate to raising two colicky babies eighteen months apart; clawing for some human that can justify the insanity that I felt.

I decided that I should stop that -- it might scare people away. So, I promised myself that from this point forward, I would not mention that unless formally asked (does blogging break this rule already?).

There are many benefits to raising colicky babies, first and foremost is if you are speaking in the past tense about raising the children, than you already completed what seemed to be an insurmountable task -- surviving the constant, inconsolable crying. Another perk is that I graduated from being someone who didn’t know which side was the front of the diaper to a mother who can console any baby.

Eight years ago, my friend of thirty-three years was enjoying her kid-free life. As my roommate in San Francisco, a constructive day for her was waking up at three p.m., talking on the phone for three hours, going to work, and then attending the latest triple-bill concert. She felt that her life was her own and she was fine with not having kids -- ever.

And then, she got married to someone who was ten years older than her -- who had no kids yet. He eased into the subject during the time they were newly married while she was a fun-loving and caring “aunt” to my kids. She gained confidence and even survived the few days she spent helping me while immersed in the mayhem of my second colicky baby. She was able to handle it all, even perfecting the soothing rock/bounce. She gained skills she didn’t know she had and gained the confidence it took to give mothering a shot.

Yesterday, I spent a good part of my day rocking and sshing her one-month old. I was calm, caring, and knew exactly what to do when the normal newborn challenges came up. Rock, feed, change, mellow conversation-repeat.

I was the mom that I desired to be during all of those stressful times raising my own babies. Of course, it helped tremendously that I was now the one who got to leave her house to enjoy a meal and a drink.

Since my husband and I agreed to never try for number three, my “nephew” will help to reassure my feelings that a baby is a beautiful and enjoyable gift and will possibly help me release my former feelings of inadequacy and stop me from searching elsewhere for the comfort of my fellow, formerly insane mothers.

By Jennifer O’Shaughnessy

Labels: Jennifer O'Shaughnessy

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