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Screw You, Reflux: A Letter to My Baby’s Invisible Foe
Screw you, Reflux. How dare you hurt my precious little girl? She’s so lovely, but you’ve turned her into the “problem child,” the “fussy one,” and “the incessant screamer.” Only I could see the joyful baby hidden behind the arching back and wailing cries. Only I.
If I’m being honest, there were days when I grappled to find the joy in my bundle of chaos. After endless hours of crying, shushing, bouncing, and, oh yes, the lovely vomiting, my heart had little room left for happiness. Those tender moments of connection between mother and newborn? Stolen by you, because her infancy felt like a battlefield of tears. My sweet girl was struggling for breath, for food, for sleep—and it’s all because of you.
Screw you, Reflux. You’ve taken so much from us.
Screw you, Reflux, for the sleepless nights. As soon as darkness fell, my husband and I put on our metaphorical armor. Our little girl would start squirming, fussing, crying, and then wailing like a banshee. No amount of shushing or bouncing could stop the tidal wave that crashed over us night after night.
During the day, managing the crying felt possible—if I never put her down, we could survive. But come nightfall, it was like you ripped away the meager control I had, unleashing your full fury. How many nights did we march around the yard with our screaming baby? Too many to count. I don’t even know why we did it. It seemed to help a little, giving us a sense of purpose when we felt utterly powerless.
There were too many nights when I just stopped marching, cradling my howling baby and sobbing. She would scream until there was nothing left in her, finally collapsing into a fitful sleep. But my rest? That was a distant dream. Hour after hour, she would choke, gag, vomit, and cry. The only peace she found was while lying on my chest, me sitting up in bed. For months, none of us slept. I am utterly exhausted. Screw you, Reflux.
Screw you, Reflux, for making me feel so isolated. I was a prisoner in my own home. Where could I go? Because of you, my baby cried constantly. In the car, at the store, in restaurants, at the doctor’s office—everywhere we went, there were tears. No one could babysit her because she only wanted me. I couldn’t even go to work without her howling for me the entire time. So I just stopped leaving. My crying baby was basically glued to me.
When I tried to share our struggles, very few people understood. Well-meaning comments just made it worse. I grew weary of hearing how “this is just a phase” or “it’s worth it for such a beautiful baby,” or “it can’t be that bad.” I felt so alone.
Even when I tried to socialize with friends, I found myself envious of other new moms hugging their calm, cooing babies. I felt guilt for wishing my baby was like that, and then I felt like the worst mom ever having those thoughts. I was her only advocate, and even I considered giving up. A new baby sounded so appealing. Screw you, Reflux.
Screw you, Reflux, for attempting to rob me of my year, my baby’s infancy, my marriage, my family, and my sanity. You underestimated us. You thought you had us defeated. But today marks the beginning of a new year filled with hope. We’re on the brink of a life without you. The end of this battle is in sight.
But the scars you’ve left run deep. The third child I always dreamed of will remain a fantasy. My husband and I can’t bear the thought of another year with you as our shadow. That weight is too heavy, so another life will forever remain unknown to us. But you know what? That’s okay. My family is beautiful just as it is.
My little girl, my once-screaming bundle of joy, is starting to thrive. She’s so lovely, undeniably beautiful, happy, and healthy. She melts my heart, and I hope her strength becomes a shield for her as she grows. Screw you, Reflux, for trying to break my little girl. And screw you for trying to break me.
You didn’t succeed in breaking me. You made me stronger. I had to learn to fight through worry, exhaustion, and despair. You pushed me to advocate fiercely for my daughter. “No” became unacceptable. We saw doctor after doctor until I found the answers we desperately needed. I read, I researched, I armed myself. This was a fight I couldn’t afford to lose because the stakes were too high.
When I thought I couldn’t march another step, I pushed on for another hundred. When I thought I’d lose my mind listening to my baby cry for one more second, I tightened my grip on her and prayed for the strength to go on. I found that strength. With time, a lot of medication, a frenectomy, countless swings and baby gear, and even consulting a sleep expert, we’re still standing—and we’re starting to thrive.
Now, I hear laughter more than screams. I’ve even started weaning off some of the medication. We’ve slept through the night a few times. We’ve hit milestones that once felt a lifetime away. We’ve survived. While I still jump at every cry and feel a rush of anxiety when she hiccups, I know we’re finally looking toward the future. So from the bottom of my heart: Screw you, Reflux.
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In summary, reflux may have made my journey as a mom challenging, but it has also strengthened my resolve and resilience. My family has weathered the storm, and we’re starting to find joy amidst the chaos.