ode to colic.

Colic.

What are you anyway? Just some vague term that is supposed to explain to me why my baby cries endlessly.

Why our lives have been turned upside down.

You are a bad word. A very bad word.

You try my patience a million times every day.

Because I want answers. I want there to be a remedy. And your only real remedy is time.

I don’t think I believe in you. I need to call you “reflux” or “allergies” or I need to just find another word for you. I need you to be a specific thing that can be treated.

You affect about 20 percent of babies. I had pretty good odds of never meeting you. Yet here you are.

You are such a mystery , but what I do know about you, I so hate.

I hate that you are making my baby hurt. And that that hurt makes her scream. All. The. Time.

I hate that you intruded on this precious time we have with her.

I hate that you have robbed us of our “normal” life.

I hate the tears I’ve shed because of you and the time I’ve wasted thinking about how much I hate you.

I hate that you spare 80 percent of babies, but you didn’t spare mine.

I hate that you are exhausting and without mercy.

I hate that you tempt me to be resentful and sometimes make me forget how lucky I am.

I hate that you affect not just Kenzie, but Caleb too because you rob us of time with him.

But I will tell you this. You will not win. One day you’ll be out of our lives and we won’t give you a second thought.

And by the way, you are tough, but you aren’t that tough. There are far worse things that are bigger and badder than you. And we will gladly take you over those other things.

So don’t think you’ve defeated us.

If you were a person, I’d throw cotton balls at you.

Stupid colic.

Whatever you are.

Go away and leave my family alone.