They call it the witching hour, I call it temporary insanity. Maybe you’ve heard of it… it’s this amazingly magical time of day where the sweetest, calmest, smiley-est baby becomes…how do I put this lightly?… a screaming ball of crazy screaming fussy crying anxiety-provoking banshee screams.
Sounds fun, no?
Obviously not all babies have a witching hour, though mine does. It’s a form of colic and can last a few months all the way up to a year. In our house, the witching hour starts every single night somewhere between 6-7pm and lasts anywhere from 1 to 3 hours. Most nights it’s just no-reason-fussy-crying that can be eventually calmed by holding her close and dancing in the kitchen until she falls asleep. Other days, it’s no-reason-fussy-crying for a good hour or 3 while we anxiously run down the list of what could be wrong…
- too hot?
- too cold?
- diaper change?
- too much sleep?
- smelly feet?
- bad hair day?
- ugly pajamas?
- momma looked at you funny?
- what? what? WHAT!?!
…and usually by the time we’ve tried everything twice, she’s completely worn herself out.
But then, oh man, this past Sunday happened. I tense up just thinking about it…my eardrums are still trying to repair themselves and my tick has finally slowed to a less noticable pace. It was the mother of all mother fucking witching hours, landing smack dab in the middle of Sunday night family dinnertime. It was just me and Summer, Scott was smart and chose to stay home for a little quiet time. And as soon as we left our house, it began. She screamed all the way TO my parents’ house. She screamed the whole time we were AT my parents’ house. She screamed the whole way home FROM my parents’ house. Oh, was it fun. I think I remember once upon a time telling someone that, no, she doesn’t like the car, she usually cries, but I’ve learned to tune it out, you know?
Ha. Ha. Hardy. Ha.
Oh you silly overly-confident momma, there was no tuning this one out.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I just ended up singing at the top of my lungs the whole way home, “I’M SINGIIIIIIIIIIIIIING! I’M IN A STORE AND I’M SIIIIIIINGING!” like a looney mad woman over and over again because for some reason my frantic mind decided at that moment to channel my inner Buddy the Elf to try to distract her and stop her crying. I sounded like an idiot and it totally didn’t work. And of course the second I pulled back in my driveway, she passed out cold.
I can only imagine what Scott was thinking when I walked in the house. I was frazzled, spastic, twitching, nerves shot, jaw clenched, eyes bulging out of my face, knuckles white from vice-gripping the steering wheel for so long, hair all a mess, torn shirt, dirt swiped across my cheek, (ok, that may be a slight exaggeration but I swear that’s how I remember it) carrying this:
He must have thought I was losing my mind. Little did he know I had already lost it somewhere between Northbrook and Skokie.