They say that, once upon a time, when the men in white coats were always right, they used to give babies something called paregoric drops when they were a little colicky.

For those of you who don’t know – and, by the way, I hate you – colic is when a baby, for no known reason, cries. And cries. And cries.

And after Hour Four, maybe you’ll spot the parents by the side of the bed. You’ll recognize them by the way they cry. And cry. And cry.

It usually happens at night, when no one else can witness the sonic abuse of the parents. The only way doctors can diagnose the problem is by spotting the purple bags under the parents’ eyes and their glassy, zombie-like stares.

Paregoric contains morphine. It stops a baby from crying – or about anything, I imagine. It was taken off the pediatric market when doctors discovered baby’s first word was becoming “groovy.”

I scoff at those officials who took this wonder drug off the market. Do you hear? I scoff at you, but only because my editors no longer allow me to print physical threats in the paper (mumble, mumble).

I long for those days of long ago, for those arrogant men in white coats who thought drugs could cure all.

Oh, does baby want a Schedule III narcotic? Does baby want a Schedule III narcotic? Yes, she does. Oh, yes, she does.

Baby’s first little sentence: “Goo goo, ga ga, goo!”

Translation: “My name is Emily, and I’m an addict.”

I don’t care – bring on the drugs.

Now all we parents have in our bag of tricks is pick baby up, walk baby around, baby feigns sleep, put baby down, baby cries, pick baby up, glare at wife, back down when wife glares back.

How do Wendy and I use our time, now that it is occupied by baby? I’ve been making up little games, like the one I call diaper roulette. Whoever gets the messy diaper on their turn is the loser.

Did you hear me, loser? I mean, Wendy.

Wet, wet, messy, wet. Wet, messy, wet, wet. It doesn’t matter. Somehow Daddy never gets the messy diaper.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes Daddy does get the messy diaper. And Mommy, a saint, sees Daddy staring down at the changing table in shock, unable to move. And Mommy saves Daddy. Yes, she does, oh, yes, she does.

I’m reviewing the above and I see, baby, that you’re meeting your expectations as a baby, but you still have some work to do. I’m setting the following goals for you for your second month of life:

1) Crying – Yes, I know you’re seeing all types of strange things that you’re not used to seeing. Like your mother when she wakes up. It can be a little overwhelming at times, but you’ve got to learn to control your emotions.

During the upcoming month, I expect you to cry only when you need a bottle or need to be changed. Also, work on your verbal skills so that by month three, you’ll be able to ask for bottle and diaper by name.

2) Motor control – You’ve had a month with your new muscles, more if you count your time in the womb. Your mother says you were not idle.

It’s time to begin using those muscles in a constructive way. Like changing your own diaper. Daddy will be happy to hand you the diapers and other supplies over the next month, but by month four you should be able to go to the bathroom by yourself.

Actually, Emily’s a doll. She’s just learning to play – rugby.

Just wanted to mention the loss of a member of The T&D’s press crew, Michael “Fuzzy” Bryant, to a heart attack. I thought I was his buddy at the paper, but now that he’s gone, I’m hearing a lot of people saying “Fuzzy was my buddy.”

He was that kind of guy. I’ll miss him. We’ll all miss him.

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