Symptomatic

I'm still here.

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a zombie, but I've managed to keep all of the kids fed (and occasionally the dog) and even ventured out of the house away from my little barnacle who would much prefer a constant, steady stream of milk to settle his unhappy tummy.

After a few days of this nonstop cry/eat/don't sleep/cry more cycle, I came to the inevitable conclusion that his fussiness is not due to a simple upset stomach.

We have colic.  Cue "Carmina Burana".

I was lucky enough to avoid it with Graham and even Cael, who was trying in his own ways, so I took to the internet to make sure my at-home diagnosis matched the symptoms.

Baby colic (also known as infantile colic) is defined as episodes of crying for more than three hours a day for more than three days a week for three weeks in an otherwise healthy child between the ages of two weeks and four months.

We don't quite fit those parameters, since Adler's colic began right at two weeks old and hasn't lasted long enough to be classified as such, but he has met other less common criteria that must surely indicate he isn't the happy-go-lucky infant we'd hoped he'd be.

A look of constant suspicion.  During his (still brief) periods of lucidity, Adler sneers at me as though he knows of a great many crimes I've perpetrated, or like he questions my very ability to raise him through to adulthood.  Sure, I question that myself at times, but despite a history of blaring parental mistakes, I do have two happy and healthy boys to show for my efforts.

Incidentally, did everyone see Graham's head injury yesterday?

Physical abuse.  I don't mean child abuse either-- there's no excuse for that no matter how much crying one endures.  No, I'm talking about parental abuse here, and the constant kicks to the face and/or baby-nail-razor-cuts that mark my neck and chest.  When coupled with that look above, I just know that he is using his innocent visage to manipulate and connive his way into extra food and extra snuggles.

Vulgarity.  Lastly, in what seems to be a last ditch effort to scare me off, Adler is constantly giving me the finger.  Even in the womb his hands were always in front of his face and ruining the potential for any 4D ultrasound photos.  During the rare moments when he isn't flipping me the "bird", his tongue is proudly displayed in a childish "take that".  I have chosen to interpret this resourcefulness as a sign of genius-level intelligence in a baby that lacks verbal skills beyond "ahhhhhh!".

But unfortunately for Adler, and unfortunately for colic itself, I can't be pushed away.  Because for every cry or look, kick, or finger, there is a glimpse of a smile- of the little boy he'll be after we survive "the ages of two weeks to four months".

Or maybe it was just poop.