6 Weeks

When your baby is crying, there is an impulse to ascertain why. You want to alleviate his symptoms and avoid them in the future. Is she hungry? Does he need a diaper change? Is it a digestive difficulty? Is she cold? Overstimulated? Understimulated?

It is easy to run yourself in circles trying to placate your baby. I have come to believe this is a counterproductive habit for the parents of a colic baby. The bottom line is the baby is going to do a ton of crying no matter what you do. There may be an occasional ascertainable solution for the tears, an elixir he can drink, an ointment you can put on her, a movement that soothes him into sleep.

At best these are band-aids for the colic baby. The next day will come and she will resume crying around her usual time. The salve you were so sure assuaged his tears last night now does nothing. That carefully-choreographed movement you developed yesterday just pisses her off this afternoon.

Psychologically, it is better to accept the crying as an invincible enemy. There is only one real antidote: time.

5 Weeks 1 Day

It's been a rollercoaster since Elias was born. Really we've been on the 'coaster for many years, but the peaks and valleys have been rapid and relentless since we went to the hospital for induction. 

I'm pleased to say the rollercoaster has reached a new high point. 

Eli has had four excellent nights in a row. The last two I haven't even had to take him for a drive - they've just been sleep ~3 hours, stirring, feeding, back to sleep within 20 minutes and down for ~4 hours. This has been a thrilling and unexpected development, as just last weekend I had to take him for five drives in a 15-hour period. The night before none of us slept more than 90 minutes straight.

This isn't to say Eli's colic has disappeared. Rather, it's shifted. He has been fussier during the afternoons of late, with a standard meltdown in the early evening. Melissa's experience hasn't improved as much as mine. I usually battle the evening episode with a bumpy stroller walk. The walk doesn't win the battle, but usually keeps the enemy at bay before Melissa's last breastfeed. It's also a way for me to get some exercise in preparation for the night. The stroller has a couple drink holders which I generally occupy with an iced latte and a beer. After the walk, he's been feeding, then threatening a meltdown but drifting off for a solid chunk.

This shift has made an amazing difference in my well-being. It's had the obvious benefits of more zzzs and less crying. But the benefits are really exponential, because the rested mind and less-fatigued ears are then less stressed and exhausted by daytime crying. Basically, crying is easier to handle when there's less of it. 

I can honestly say I've been happy the last few days. Not just happy relative to where I was, but legitimately happy. It helps that the boy is starting to interact some more, to gaze with more intent, to motion and grasp, to smile and chortle. He is undeniably cute. Especially when he isn't crying.

1 Month 2 Days

Elias is not the only helpless creature we're taking care of.

We have a very young child and a very old dog.

Friends have told me their lives were altered forever when they became parents. One friend called it a "discrete physical change" created by a transfer of concern from oneself to another. I haven't really felt a tangible difference. I think this is because I experienced the shift the day I went home with Bailey thirteen years ago. Obviously the responsibilities of caring for a dog are dwarfed by those of an infant, but they do provide a sensation of having a creature rely upon you for survival and well-being.

When I decided to adopt a dog, I went to the Humane Society seven times to meet potential matches. On the seventh visit an employee came out to ask what the issue was. I told her I'd found the one.

Bailey was the last of his litter to be adopted. I found this astonishing, as he was so immediately social and well-mannered. He loved meeting people as much as he loved meeting dogs. He was also ridiculously cute.

As Bailey grew up, I was awestruck by how endearing he was. He often inspired me to sing a slightly modified version of the Police song "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic." I know humans bred dogs to please them, but it's truly incredible we were this successful. Dogs are our greatest invention. The amount of joy Bailey has given me and my family over the years cannot be quantified. The love I've felt from him in my darkest times. The ambience he's provided the most mundane moments. The resilience to travel around the country with us, to adapt to the contours of our lives. The family feeling he gave me and Melissa as we struggled through infertility. I cannot imagine a more delightful creature. 

The most profound discovery Bailey has given me is the knowledge of how intensely animals feel pain and pleasure. Bailey is incredibly expressive. He's always been able to communicate his sentiments without ambiguity. He palpably expresses happiness and sadness. His greatest dread is being left alone, pitifully explicated through incessant high-pitched whimpering cries. Just because other animals can't convey emotions as effectively as Bailey doesn't mean they aren't feeling them. Correcting the mistreatment of animals by humans has become my most urgent ideal thanks to Bailey.

When Bailey was 2 1/2 I went to Africa for four months. Bailey stayed with my friend Zack and his housemates. Zack didn't have a dog but was beginning to consider one. They had a transformative effect on each other. Zack & co. did a wonderful job taking care of him. I can't thank him enough. Bailey stepped right back into swing when I returned, but he was better-behaved than when I'd left. Zack got a dog shortly after, and then another. He is now one of the most passionate dog owners I know.  

Many years ago I took Bailey on a walk on a 99-degree day in Las Vegas. Our group became slightly lost, the hike stretched over an hour and Bailey suffered scarring burns on his back. The scars only affect him aesthetically, but they are a reminder of my failure to protect him and his unflinching loyalty.

Bailey started developing arthritis several years ago. He's now lived more than half his life with it. He hasn't had any cartilage in his knees for years. The runs and long hikes we used to go on petered into walks around town, then strolls around the block, hobbles in the back yard and now staggers across the living room. He can't descend stairs, though he can still get up mild ones with a little help. Every once in a while, he'll stun us by leaping and pulling himself onto the couch.

I was sure Bailey's twelfth birthday would be his last. A couple months after that he suffered a setback. He became incontinent. I assumed he'd be gone by the end of 2021. 

Thanks to Dr. Shea at Foxtail Pines Veterinary Hospital and his own verve, Bailey made it to his thirteenth birthday and Eli's birth. He still enjoys hanging out with us, meeting visitors, sniffing around the yard. He still wolfs down his meals (along with a cocktail of medications).

He does not care for the baby.

Or more specifically, he doesn't care for Eli's crying and the way our attention has been reprioritized. He can't leave the room when Eli cries. He just has to sit there and take it. He looks at us longingly, achingly. And we can't give Bailey the care he deserves when Eli is demanding it.

At night Bailey either has to stay with Melissa in the bedroom or me and Eli in the basement. If Bailey's in the bedroom, he might poop and interrupt Melissa's sleep. He also might miss me and begin whimpering or pattering around the room. If he stays with the boys, he'll have to listen to a fair amount of crying. If I have to take Eli on a drive, which I do most nights, Bailey has to be hauled and loaded into the car next to the screamer. It's that or his greatest anxiety - left alone.

Every day we get to spend with Bailey is an unexpected gift. He does not have a lot of them left. It breaks my heart that Eli will have no memories of this wonderful dog, that his cries are making Bailey's last days less enjoyable.