Our little girl is having more good days than bad days now, and has strings of 3 or 4 days in a row when she takes naps, is happy when she's active, and is generally no trouble at all. She's beginning to smile, follows us with her eyes, loves staring at the TV and the pink star that hangs from the bouncy chair, and is "cooing" (though to me it sounds more like squeaks, squawks, and some "Maaaagghhooowaaaghhoooiiikk????") Her GI tract is figuring itself out, and we no longer dread the one big poop every three days that is thick and sticky--she's now more regular and "looser". This is a very good thing. (And yes, I have become the typical new mom that discusses her kid's poop on a regular basis. Sorry.)
But she still has bad days.
When we'd talk to our family from Madison, they thought we were exaggerating. "Oh, all babies have times like that," they'd say. "Babies cry, it's what they do!" and "But she's good most of the time, you just have to be patient when she has a fussy time."
Dr. B and I knew that they had no idea what kind power Rowan has.
As she screamed for the third hour in a row, Dr. B would say to me, "she's not a nuclear reactor. She has to wear out sometime and fall asleep." Most days, he's right. But not always.
Now, I am back in North Dakota staying with my inlaws, and Dr. B has begun his new job in Pennsylvania. Rowan was great on the trip despite the issues we had, and had several good days after that, leading my inlaws to believe that she was a wonderful, easy baby.
Then it came.
Or, as Jean called it, "The Day From Hell."
Up at 8:30, she had a fussy morning. Lots of crying.
Again with the crying.
Coffee with Jean's school gang, and again, no nap.
And more crying.
Afternoon. We were dead. All three of us were in desperate need of a nap, but no dice. More crying. No nap.
"She can't go on like this!" Jean said. "She's got to wear out. I am beat. I don't know how she does it."
We drove around. And around. And around. So long, in fact, that she got hungry again and we had to go home and feed her.
Late afternoon. Dick came home. "What have you been doing to my granddaughter?" he joked.
"You're lucky I like you, or I'd hand her off to you and go to the movies. And take a nap there." I said.
Again, more crying and no nap.
Supper. More crying. No sleeping.
Coffee. (Decaf). Ditto.
Dilly Bar. More of the same.
She finally conked out at 11 PM.
Jean, the next day, in a phone call to her son:
"You're wrong. I'm pretty sure she is a nuclear reactor."
But now, at least, I have an ally. Jean understands. And when people say, "oh, she's such a good baby!" I have someone to exchange "if you only knew" looks with.
*Note: after an "episode", she will usually have a few good days. She made it until Monday this time, but at least when she was awake she wasn't crying this time. Though she was up from 3 AM to 10 PM.
Maybe she'll be a doctor. Seems like she could handle the hours during residency. At least once every 3 or 4 days.