CONFESSIONS OF A SOUTHERN FATHER

CHAPTER THREE

COLIC 101

Yeah, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death… “Whaaaa!!! Whaaa!!! Whaaa!!!” Ain’t scared of dying, but after six straight hours of our newborn wailing, it did make me take a hard look at the telephone. Our new baby girl was proving her lungs were already fully developed.

“Call Mother,” Better Half cried from exhaustion from our bedroom for the tenth time.

“I can handle it,” I stubbornly said, pride going before my fall. After pacing and patting for another minute and wearing a path in our shabby carpet, she quieted for a second. But only for a second.

“Whaaa!!! Whaaa!!! Whaaa!!!,” she screamed again contorting her beautiful little face into the most unusual shape. I sent up a frenzied prayer to God.

“Please don’t let her face freeze like that! And may she stop crying too…Amen!”

“Call Mother!” Better Half insisted again, her weakened voice now hanging on the verge of distraught. She still needed to be in the hospital, but lack of money solved that.

“I think she’s about to stop,” This man insisted walking to the other end of our mobile home. “Whaaaaaaaaa!!!!!” She picked up in volume to cover the distance. The lights were now in danger of shattering.

“Call Mother!” Better Half screamed on the verge of despair.

“She can’t do any better than I can,” this husband insisted, bullheaded as a stubborn four-year-old.

“My God,” she cried in desperation, “She’s reared eight children!” To give in would be the sensible thing to do, but giving my nemesis more fuel for the fire wasn’t in my plans. Our relationship wasn’t that cordial and at times it bordered on open hostility. I was very low on her list of sons-in-law and our child-raising opinions were worlds apart.

“My mama is coming at seven,” I said cheerfully spun, “That’s only three more hours.”

“CALL MOTHER NOW! OR I WILL DRAG MYSELF OUT OF THIS BED AND DO IT MYSELF!”

You can already guess what happened. The minute my mother-in-law walked in the door and cradled my daughter, the loudest belch in history erupted. I think the Richter scale jumped, scaring those monitoring it. Two seconds later, our beautiful child fell into a deep sleep, giving my mother-in-law loads of smirky satisfaction.

“See,” my mother-in-law said, with catty-edge fangs showing, “you only had to burp her.”

“You’re too immature for fatherhood,” floated silently through the air while she gave me the old evil eye.

“You just got lucky,” I wanted to say as my face flushed.

“Should be about time for you to go to work,” drifted across the room. “That is if you call what you do a real job. Chasing cows around.”

“I’ll win, just wait and see. We won’t always be so poor.”