Losing My Cool

People ask me, "Soren, you are such a calm and collected little guy. There must be something that upsets you." Well the truth of the matter is, it's not just one thing that gets to me, it's everything! And it always happens at a specific time. A time commonly referred to in our household as the "witching hour."

You know the feeling. It's what you feel when your waiting in line to catch a Washington State ferry that's about to leave in two minutes and the driver in the car in front of you asks the attendant for directions, lamely holding out an upside down map of Ohio. Or when you're in an airport waiting to board a plane and the announcer says, "I'm sorry we've overbooked this flight. We forgot how many seats we had on the plane." Or the feeling you get when you realize you've just locked your keys in the car and you don't have a spare set. You don't know whether to cry tears of sorrow or scream in outrage. Well when the "witching hour" strikes me, I know just what to do. All of the above.

You're skeptical, I know. You ask, "Soren, there can't possibly be anything in the life of a 3 month old baby that could cause such consternation." Oh, please. When was the last time you tried being a baby? This stuff is hard! Everything is new to me. I can't talk. I have very little control over my bowels. I don't have any teeth, but that doesn't keep my gums from hurting. I have no locomotion abilities. I have very little stamina and I tire quickly. I need to sleep at least 15 hours a day but I don't know how to go to sleep on my own. I can get uncontrollable hic-ups without any warning. Sometimes my stomach gets so upset I feel I'm going to explode if someone doesn't burp me (which involves much back pounding, way fun). When I least expect it I spit up all over myself and those around me. And my only two means of communication are smiling a toothless grin or screaming at the top of my lungs.

So between the hours of 4 pm and 6 pm, after a fun packed day of being me, I am a little tired of . . . well, everything. I could be smiling one minute, feeding, playing or who knows what. The next minute I'm screaming my head off. I can't help it, I just have to do it. I turn beet red. My eyes start watering. And you know what? It makes me feel better. Even though I'm screaming and tears are running down my face, at last, I am in control. Mom and Dad are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, burping me, dancing me around the room, bouncing me in my hammock, trying to feed me, offering me pacifiers, toys, bribes, anything . . . if I would just stop.

Now don't get me wrong, I am not being manipulative. I am legitmately worn out. I can't even control myself at this point. I'm like a careening out of control car with no brakes flying down a steep, winding canyon road. Somebody help me stop!

Finally after everything has been tried, calm suddenly returns. Usually the cure is just letting me scream and cry for awhile (up to an hour) and after being fed and gently bounced in my hammock to some accompanying soft singing, I finally fall asleep. The witching hour is over. Until tomorrow.