More on Babies. Or, You Get Just As Cranky When You Have the ‘Bubble Guts’.

In keeping with the recent influx of people I know having babies, I recently wrote something for someone on colic. So I figured, ‘Why the not build on it here?’. So I did.

As I mentioned the other day, if your people reading skills have been lacking, having a child is going to sharpen them to a razor edge. It’s perfectly normal to be on tenterhooks when you bring your little wiggle worm home. Hopefully, you had gotten your shit together and baby proofed accordingly and figured all that you needed to figure out ahead of time.

Be fore warned: the day is going to come when that little bundle of joy is going to cry. Nonstop. It will transform before your very eyes from said bundle of joy into a shapeless vacuum that exists off of the sleep your supposed to get and what’s left of your sanity.

The ‘Honeymoon’ Will Be Ending Shortly.

As I have been alluding to, it may seem like the only things a baby can do is sleep, inhale food, make messes, and cry. Babies are like icebergs: there is a lot more going on under the surface. I humbly submit to you the following points:

  • The differences between the ‘I’m hungry’ cry, the ‘I’m tired’ cry, or the ‘You’re going to have to clean up a horrible mess in a minute’ cry. Yep, they communicate like wolves.
  • The reason that they throw stuff on the floor from the high chair isn’t to annoy you: they want to know what sound it makes.
  • The logic behind everything going into their mouth is in a roundabout way how they gather information (and build their palettes).

Re-read points two and three: Bet you didn’t know the little fuckers were scientists, right? As they make the jump from formula (or breast milk) to food, that’s when it happens: that’s when you, as a parent, ENTER THE VOID.

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Ever eat something that didn’t agree with you? Ever have a meal ‘cheat’ day that went complete batshit off the rails and then wonder the next day why in the fuck you can’t make a deposit and the Local Bank of Your Toilet?

It’s the same principle. Babies get the bubble guts because their gut-system is still in the ‘install’ phase.

There is something that you can do.

You Gotta Rub That Shit Out. 

That’s right: Rub their bellies. Fuck, still having trouble after that cheat day? Rub your own damn belly. It. Works. 

Not only does Infant massage using moderate pressure help with colic and gas, but it has also been documented that preterm babies benefitted from this practice through increased weight gain, bone density, and overall behavior.

Dad, feeling left out because you ain’t got the boobs your kid wants? Get up on that belly rubbin’!

The good thing about infant massage is that you can start the practice as soon as the child is three days old and you can do it up to four times a day for two weeks. Just don’t do it right after a meal and pay attention to how the kid acts: sometimes they just don’t want to get rubbed on. 

How To Rub Your Baby.

First things, first: make sure that there isn’t any sort of loud shenanigans going on in your home. If it’s distracting to you, it’s going to be distracting to the kid. Then make sure that you’re comfortable when you sit down with them. Again, if you aren’t comfy, they won’t be either. 

Prior to first contact, it’s just like giving your boo a rub down: clip the nails, take off the jewelry, warm up the hands, maybe get the massage oil. The only difference between rubbing your boo and rubbing your baby is that you all ready got the end result of what you were hoping to get prior to the last rub down. (Sickos).

Lay the kid on their back so eye contact can be maintained.

When massaging, use slow, firm, and gentle belly rubs, in a clockwise motion. This is important because it follows the direction of your baby’s intestines. It also moves any trapped farts and baby shit. (You lucky dawg).

In the end, even if massaging doesn’t ease your baby’s colic, don’t be afraid to set the kid down in their crib and walk away. There’s only so much that you can do before you become one of those parents who are freaking the fuck out because the kid is crying and won’t stop. Kids cry. It’s what they do.


Our kids still complain about tummy aches to us to this day. Like we’re wizards and all we have to do is wave our magic wands and POOF your belly ache is dispelled in that rotten egg fart that was the culprit to begin with.

As a result of such a complaint, we make fun of said offending child. Why? BECAUSE WE FUCKING TOLD THEM THAT BELLY ACHES ARE OUT OF THE RANGE OF OUR SCOPE OF DUTIES. Ad fucking naseum. As you can see, I’m not a monster: I’m entitled. There’s a difference. 


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