Just Wait Until He’s 12 Weeks, and It Will Sort Itself Out
This was the advice I kept hearing and reading about whenever I asked why my baby screamed almost all day, every day.
We got a few nice weeks of peace and quiet after we left the hospital—just enough time for Rudy to wake up to the world and realize he was, in fact, no longer in the womb. And then the screaming started.
My husband and I thought it was terrible and hard, but we didn’t know any different. I think that made it worse—feeling like I was failing as a new mum because I just couldn’t make it work. I was doing everything I thought was right, and he still screamed. Not just when he was hungry or tired, but all. the. time. And this wasn’t just a regular baby cry; it was pain and anger. Nothing could soothe or settle him.
I remember lying on the floor of his room one night, bawling my eyes out, thinking, What the fuck have we done? Why did I think having a baby was a good idea? This is horrible.
Luckily, we had family support. It wasn’t until my mum saw the screaming firsthand—watched every trick or old wives’ tale fail—that she said, “This isn’t a normal baby cry. Something is wrong.”
So, I kept Googling and making appointments. The paediatrician basically told me it was colic, reflux, and purple crying. “Wait until he’s 12 weeks adjusted, and it will sort itself out,” he said. Apparently, it’s common for prem babies to have underdeveloped digestive systems, so we just had to give him a few months.
I didn’t have a few weeks left in me. The relentlessness of how uncomfortable and upset he was was breaking me.
I cut out caffeine and dairy—because what new mum doesn’t love giving up coffee and hot cross buns? Spoiler: it did very little. I choked down decaf for months, which was just another blow.
He was seeing a chiropractor three times a week, and while it did help a bit, I started having panic attacks on the way there. The screaming and the subsequent vomiting from the screaming made driving with him a nightmare. Pulling over on the side of the road to clean up my screaming baby was not ideal for my already flustered AF self.
We took him to another GP. I showed her videos of the screaming, his burst blood vessel in his eye, and his umbilical hernia (yes, the screaming was that forceful). I said, “We can’t keep doing this. We need help.” She looked at us and said, “I can’t believe you’ve been coping so well. This is horrific.”
I don’t think she realized I could barely talk to the receptionist when I rang, pleading for any appointment. But finally, we had a bit of progress: Rudy was prescribed omeprazole, and I went on a strict diet for possible intolerances.
We also took him out of his hip harness so he could move his legs freely and find some comfort. He had about three baths a day—one of the few things that calmed him down (along with bouncing on the fitball).
I tried baby massage, and as a former massage therapist, I was so excited to do this. He hated it. Of course, he did. He was a very unsettled, sad beige baby.
In those early months, I rarely left the house. He would scream, and then I would cry—from defeat and exhaustion. I tried to go to a rhyme time at the library once but ended up walking him around the car park because of the screaming. We didn’t go to mothers’ group. We didn’t go to swimming lessons.
I remember almost crying with happiness the first time we went to a café without tears. Rudy was just over 3 months old. That night, I posted about it on Instagram—just to mark the occasion of having one outing without a meltdown.
I don’t quite remember when the screaming stopped, but it wasn’t overnight. It wasn’t even a six-month fix. He was always unsettled, and the unhappy moments far outweighed the good. I just wish I’d seen more recounts of experiences like mine. I wanted to hear about mums having a shit time with difficult babies.
I joined all the Facebook groups and tried all the remedies. I even drove 45 minutes to a pharmacy for a colic mix that was supposedly magic—it wasn’t, but I think it helped a teeny bit. I lived on chamomile and colic tea, with gripe water and Infacol always at the ready.
We walked around our estate multiple times a day with Rudy in the carrier because—surprise—he hated the pram. He had to lay flat, and that was a no-go. So, I did a lot of mopping with him in the carrier, too—aggressive movements and motion seemed to help. Not bicycle legs or any of the other stupid tricks I saw on TikTok.
Honestly, I don’t know what finally helped him in the end—probably a combination of the million things we were trying and just time. But what helped me the most was that GP who said, “Wow, this is shit. I’m so sorry, guys.”
I just wanted to feel validated. I didn’t want advice—I’d already Googled every possible solution while bouncing on the fitball. I just wanted empathy. Reading stories like ours at 2 a.m. made everything feel a bit more bearable. Even if there wasn’t a solution, I just wanted to feel seen.
And that’s what Beige Mum Collective is about.
Please send this to someone who is struggling or has a difficult baby. They’ll be on their phone all night anyway—they might as well read something worthwhile.