Henry has cried for six or seven hours straight for the last four days. Unless we constantly walk around with him singing or I hold him in the Moby while swaying my hips. (I will have the strongest hips EVER).
We've started mentioning the scary colic word. And as the evening approaches, my body tenses and I brace myself for the ugly to come, and the frustration of seeing such a sweet boy in so much agony.
I am pretty sure Henry feels the same way.