My comeuppance

Colic. It's awful.

I'm number 6 of 7 kids. Most of my older brothers and sisters will tell you all about what an awful baby I was. In fact, when I was in labor and pushing with Lillian, Mom entertained all of the nurses and the doctor with colorful stories about me crying for hours and hours and the creative sleeping arrangements that had to be made to accommodate my fickle moods and how I would only be calm in the swing which was a wind-up number so periodically throughout the day, "WIND THE SWING" was a common interjection. She, probably only half-jokingly, would tell me that she wished I had a baby as awful as me, just so I could get a taste of my own medicine.

Too bad for her wish, Lillian was great. She slept, she hardly cried. It was fabulous. 'I could do this 7 times, no problem.' Not that I want seven kids, but you get the idea. Now, I have Nora. For the last two and a half weeks, she's been great. Not so great at sleeping as Lillian was, but manageable. Then yesterday happened; she started crying. I fed her, she cried. I burped her, she cried. I changed her, she cried. I swaddled her, she cried. I held her, she cried. I took her temperature, normal. No change in bodily functions, no excess vomit.

What do you call a baby that cries for no apparent reason? Comeuppance.