Around 11:30 last night, I was awoken by a sound I couldn't quite place. It was definitely coming over the monitor. I lay perfectly still and tried to figure out what I was hearing (and this is why we finally broke down and ordered a video monitor this week). It sounded like a little grunt. And it was coming rhythmically. And any rhythmic sound chills my blood in that special seizure way. I jumped out of bed and raced into Collin's room as quietly as I could and tried to assess the situation. He was facing away from me, still grunting, and tensing his arms when he did. My heart sank and I reached to get him and hold him during whatever these new seizure were.
Except I saw right away that they weren't seizures. His face was puckered up and his lip stuck out and his eyes screwed shut. He was crying.
When Collin lost his cry back during our horrid course of Topamax, I didn't even realize it had happened at first. And once I did, I would have been sad about it if I hadn't been so overwhelmed by all of the other devastating aspects of the situation. Starting earlier this year, we saw occasional cries during the toughest situations - mostly in the hospital - but it was never long or consistent. And then recently, he's been crying at certain kinds of pain (usually when something is being peeled off his skin) or when waking up from a heavy nap. Even then, it's pretty quiet. You really have to be able to see him to know what's going on (as with everything else).
So my initial reaction last night was just confusion. Something must have been really wrong for it to wake me up and last this long. My mind raced, but I couldn't come up with anything. Kyle and I ran through several emergency scenarios, but none of them fit. And eventually, it came down to this: he was uncomfortable. Maybe cold, maybe teething, maybe lonely. Maybe sad because he had chewed his favorite pacifier in half in the night (that's a whole different story). Who knows? But nothing major. And that made it that much better.
I realized at one point that it was the first time since he was born that I've been able to comfort my crying baby in the night, since I was out of commission from the PPD between our return from the hospital and his Infantile Spasm diagnosis. Don't let the complainers fool you: it's a sweet, sweet thing.
After spending some time in bed with us, getting an in-tact pacifier, some orajel, and water, he calmed down and didn't object to being back in his crib. Of course, when he woke me up at 3:30 (and 5:00, and 5:30), he was laughing.