For the past hour I've been working in a coffee shop. Perhaps it's because I'm on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, but one of my companions has been a screaming baby. Yes, her mother is here too, but seems basically unaffected by the ear-piercing freak-outs that are constantly flowing from that tiny girl. I first noticed mom and baby as they were in line waiting to order. I thought to myself, "Oh my god, I bet she just wants her coffee so she can get that baby home." But no. She ordered her drink then proceeded to sit down with her screaming baby in the stroller next to her.

Now, I'm a mom to two kids who are not always on their best behavior, so I really hate to judge. However. This is one of those times that mom is 100 percent wrong to sit in a public space, drinking her coffee and writing cards (what the?) while her baby sits in the stroller and screams. It's time to go home, baby. IT'S TIME TO GO HOME.

I don't think I've ever laughed so hard at a video of a baby crying in my life. Possibly I've never laughed at a video of a baby crying, since I don't generally find sobbing infants all that amusing, but this baby ... well, she has some very unique taste in lullabies, let's put it that way!

Only one song by one rapper does the trick when this tiny girl gets the blues ... apparently her parents did try other types of music to soothe the savage baby, but nothing had quite the same effect.

I guess that makes sense. I mean, the name of the song is "Hypnotize," after all ...

When he was a baby, my son Riley was the most impatient creature on the face of this earth. Oh, your child is impatient? No. Your child is a burbling spa-like environment of Buddhist chants, aromatherapy, and Xanax-flavored ice cream cones compared to how my child behaved. I'm sorry, I win this horrible game.

I remember fervently praying that it was a stage rather than some sort of indication of his long-term temperament, because otherwise he would surely be in for an incredibly frustrating existence as he learned that not only do parents take more than .0001 seconds to pour the milk, but traffic lights sometimes stay red for entire MINUTES ON END! Water does not boil INSTANTLY! The DMV will suck YEARS FROM YOUR LIFE!

So, about 12 weeks ago, I gave birth to two handsome little babies that we've nicknamed Herman and Berman. Yes, I'm in love with them and find myself constantly open-mouth gumming their chubby cheeks with such enthusiasm, I'm concerned I might one day try to eat their faces off ... really. Okay, no, not really.

Sure, it's one big lovefest now, but I've gotta be honest: about six weeks ago, my husband and I were losing our freakin' minds. Up until then, they had been such sweet, easy little bundles, and we were sure it would just get easier from there. But before the "it gets better" part, they decided to take a detour and steer us toward a crazy-making place where no one ever sleeps and the cries just keep on coming ...

I think we've all been there -- you're on a plane or at church or in a restaurant, somewhere public, and your baby starts crying. You try to comfort her, but nothing works. Nothing! No one wants the crying to stop more than you do. Not only are you attracting a whole room's worth of ire (embarrassing!), you're also feeling horrible for your unhappy baby.

My best defense in that situation was always to start nursing, but breastfeeding in public can get you in trouble with certain types. Still, when I heard about this Oregon bus driver who kicked a mother and her crying baby off a bus this week complaining that she couldn't "drive with all that noise," I was outraged.

When my first child was born, I had a number of home-grown "tricks" for soothing him. Putting him near the utility room while the washing machine was running, for instance. Vacuuming near him, or setting him next to me in a bouncy seat while I blow-dried my hair. The nearly foolproof method was to wait until 6 p.m. when my husband walked in the door, and after 12 hours of wriggling and crabbing and demanding attention, my child would instantly fall into a beatific sleep, and his father would be all, SO WHAT'S FOR DINNER. At which point I would kill him with my bare hands.

It wasn't until Riley was a few months old that I started embraced the baby-soothing teachings—nay, the RELIGION—of Dr. Harvey Karp.

Let me just say it’s great to blow off steam. We can’t always be appropriate, and among good friends, it is incredibly refreshing to be able to say “holy freaking crap, my child is driving me around the bend.”
 
This is quite the trend lately, what with the popularity of Go the F to Sleep, Moms Who Drink and Swear, and Mommy Wants Vodka. We’ve given ourselves permission to be imperfect, and that is great. Hell, I’ve been known to refer to my baby as an asshole when she was colicky and I was teetering on the edge of sanity.
 
I just wonder if sometimes we overdo it.
 
Here’s the sitch: A friend of mine forwarded me an email that was sent to a public email list -- the one for parents in my neighborhood. The title was “Parenting a 6-year-old douchebag.” Maybe it’s because my babies are still babies, but ... to me, that crossed a line.

I have a confession to make, and I'm sure it's going to piss some of you right the hell off: I'm not sure I believe in colic.

Okay, OKAY, hold up, let me explain: what I mean is, I'm not sure I believe that every single baby that's described as having colic or reflux — or who's being actively treated with medications to improve their incessant crying/screaming/general horribleness — really is suffering from a medical ailment other than being a Tiny Baby Who Is Also Kind of an Asshole.