Surviving the Crying Baby Phase

It was 4:13 AM on a Tuesday. I know this because my phone was illuminated on the kitchen counter, showing a weird crying baby gif my husband Dave had just texted me from the next room in a sleep-deprived delirium. Maya was seven weeks old, and she was screaming like I had personally offended her ancestors. I was wearing one nursing pad (the other fell out somewhere near the stairs), my husband's stained college sweatpants, and I smelled like sour milk and desperation. And all I could think of was my mother-in-law's voice echoing in my head from earlier that day: You're going to spoil her if you pick her up every time she fusses.

God, what absolute crap.

My pediatrician, Dr. Miller—bless this woman who looked at my unwashed hair with nothing but pity and grace—told me that you literally can't spoil a newborn. Like, their brains just don't work that way yet. When they cry, it's not manipulation, it's just their really loud, jarring way of saying they need something. Anyway, the point is, if you're standing in the dark right now crying along with your infant, you're not doing this wrong. It's just really, really hard.

The absolute lie about spoiling them

There's this pervasive myth that if you run to your kid every time they make a peep, you're raising a tyrant. Dr. Miller basically laughed when I asked her about this. She explained that for the first six months, responding to their cries actually lowers their cortisol levels—that’s the stress hormone, I think?—and builds secure attachment. You're teaching them that the world is a safe place.

But when you're in the thick of it, logic kind of goes out the window. My husband is a huge gamer, and at the time he was waiting for this game Hollow Knight Silksong to come out (still waiting, apparently), and there's this weird internet inside joke about the silksong crying baby that he tried to explain to me at 3 AM. Honestly, my brain was so fried I just stared at him. Meanwhile, my best friend was texting me about her new nephew—she calls him her little g baby for some reason—who apparently started sleeping through the night at four weeks. I almost blocked her number. I was basically a walking crying baby meme, complete with the messy bun, the dead eyes, and the lukewarm mug of coffee I had microwaved four times.

So, apparently there's this thing called the PURPLE crying period. It stands for something, I don't remember the exact acronym, but my pediatrician explained that around 6 to 8 weeks, babies just hit this absolute peak of fussiness. It's biological? Maybe neurological? Honestly, the science is super fuzzy to me, but the gist is that their tiny nervous systems just get totally overloaded by, like, existing outside the womb. And then there's the whole "colic" label, which as far as I can tell is just doctors' fancy way of saying "your kid cries for three hours a day and we've absolutely no idea why, good luck."

What the hell is the witching hour anyway

Let's talk about the 5 PM meltdown. With my oldest, Leo, you could set a watch by it. The sun would start to go down, my husband would walk through the door, and Leo would turn into a tiny, red-faced demon. For three solid paragraphs I could rant about how utterly unfair the witching hour is. You've kept this tiny human alive all day. You're depleted. You haven't eaten a real meal since yesterday's leftover crust of toast. And right when you think you can pass the baton to your partner, the baby just loses their mind.

I read all the books. I tried to make sure he wasn't overstimulated during the day, but how do you not overstimulate a baby when literally looking at a ceiling fan blows their mind? The witching hour is basically a massive data dump for their brain. They've taken in too much light, too much noise, too many faces, and their only release valve is screaming at the top of their lungs until they exhaust themselves. It's pure survival mode for everyone involved. I used to just put Leo in the stroller and walk up and down our driveway like a zombie while the neighbors watched.

Oh, and someone on the internet will inevitably tell you to check their toes for a tightly wrapped hair causing a "hair tourniquet," so fine, take their socks off and check their toes, but 99% of the time they're just exhausted.

The clothes you put them in actually matter

One thing I did realize with Leo was that half the time he was just super uncomfortable. Babies run so hot, and we had him in these awful polyester zip-up things that didn't breathe at all. When I had Maya, I switched to the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit from Kianao. I'm not exaggerating when I say it changed our afternoons.

It’s 95% organic cotton, so it actually breathes. Maya stopped getting those weird, angry red heat rashes on the back of her neck that made her so miserable. Plus, it stretches just enough that I could yank it down over her shoulders when she had one of those blowouts that totally defied the laws of physics. It didn't solve the witching hour entirely, but eliminating the "I'm wearing a plastic bag" factor definitely took the edge off her crying. If you're constantly wondering why your kid is sweaty and furious, maybe browse through some breathable organic basics and save yourself a fraction of the headache.

The absolute lifesaver for teeth

If you think the newborn crying phase is rough, wait until the teeth start moving under the gums. Around four months, Maya turned into a rabid little badger. EVERYTHING went into her mouth. Dave's knuckles, my collarbone, the TV remote. I bought so many ugly, hard plastic toys that she threw directly at my head.

But then I stumbled onto the Panda Teether. I don't know what kind of voodoo silicone they use for this thing, but it was the ONLY object that stopped the relentless whimpering. It has this little textured bamboo-shaped part that she could easily grip with her clumsy little hands, and I'd just throw it in the fridge for ten minutes while I made my third coffee of the morning. When I gave it to her, the silence that followed was literally deafening. Best money I ever spent. I bought three of them so I'd never be caught without one when we were at the grocery store. Seriously, if your kid is gnawing on their own fists, just get the panda.

Stuff that looks pretty but doesn't fix everything

And then there's the gear you buy thinking it'll magically buy you twenty minutes of peace, but it doesn't. When I was pregnant with Maya, I got the Rainbow Wooden Play Gym. Don't get me wrong, it's GORGEOUS. The wood is super smooth, the little hanging elephant is adorable, and it didn't make my living room look like a primary-colored plastic factory exploded.

But did it stop a crying fit? Absolutely not. Maya would lie under it and bat at the rings for maybe four minutes of polite attention before demanding to be held again. It’s a beautiful, high-quality piece of gear for when they're already happy and fed, but if your kid is in a clingy, tearful phase, a pretty wooden rainbow isn't going to magically stop the crying. It’s just okay. Beautiful for your Instagram aesthetic, but just okay for your sanity.

You're allowed to walk away

When the baby is fed, changed, and wearing breathable cotton, and they're STILL screaming, you're supposed to try the 5 Ss—you know, swaddling them up like a tiny, frustrated burrito, turning on a white noise machine that sounds like a broken radio, and bouncing aggressively on a yoga ball until your knees give out, all while frantically shushing directly into their ear.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it absolutely doesn't.

Let's get really real for a second. The sound of your own baby crying gets inside your head in a way nothing else does. It triggers this primal panic. My doctor told me—and I'm repeating it right now because I desperately needed someone to tell me this back then—if you feel like you're going to snap, put the baby in the crib. Walk away. Close the bedroom door. Go into the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash cold water on your face. Let them cry alone for ten minutes.

I used to feel so much guilt doing this. I'd sit on the bathroom floor with my hands over my ears, sobbing. But a baby won't die from crying in a safe sleep space for ten minutes. Your mental health, your sanity, your ability to not completely lose your mind—that's really a prerequisite for keeping them alive. You're not a bad mom for needing a minute to breathe.

You will get through this phase. One day, you'll wake up, and you'll realize they haven't cried for no reason in weeks. You will sleep again. If you need to upgrade your baby's comfort toolkit before the next 5 PM meltdown hits, explore Kianao's sustainable essentials—because anything that buys you even ten extra minutes of peace is totally worth it.

Questions you're probably Googling at 2 AM

Is it normal for them to cry every evening at the exact same time?
Oh god, yes. It's the witching hour, and it's a universally recognized form of torture. With both Leo and Maya, the hours between 5 PM and 8 PM were just a write-off. Their nervous systems are fried from the day. You aren't doing anything wrong, they just have to scream it out while you bounce them.

Can a baby cry so hard they throw up?
Unfortunately, yes. Leo did this twice and scared the living hell out of me. My pediatrician said it's because they swallow so much air when they're screaming their heads off, and eventually, that air has to come back up—usually bringing whatever milk they just drank with it. Keep a burp cloth handy and try to burp them mid-meltdown if they'll let you.

Do those expensive gas drops seriously work?
Honestly? I've no idea. I bought, like, five different brands of gripe water and simethicone drops. Sometimes I gave them to Maya and she stopped crying, but was it the drops working, or was she just distracted by the sweet taste of the liquid? Or maybe she just got tired? Who knows. Buy them if it makes you feel like you're actively doing something, but don't expect a miracle cure.

I feel actual rage when my baby cries, am I a monster?
No. You're sleep-deprived and experiencing extreme sensory overload. Auditory overstimulation is a real thing. When Maya would scream right next to my ear, I'd feel this hot spike of anger that immediately turned into crushing guilt. It's biological. Your body hears the alarm bells and goes into fight-or-flight mode. Put them down safely, step outside, and take a deep breath. You're a good parent having a really hard moment.

Will holding them all day ruin their ability to sleep alone later?
Nope. Do whatever you've to do to survive the first few months. I wore Maya in a wrap for basically 12 hours a day until she was four months old because it was the only way she wouldn't cry. Now she's four years old and sleeps in her own bed just fine. You can't spoil a baby who literally just arrived in the world. Just survive.