When I was a kid, I was told by my parents that I was special.
My name was Colic, and I was the only one who could read and write.
But now, my parents are fighting to keep me from being able to call myself a baby.
Colic was the first name I had, but now that I have the word colic in my name, I feel like I’ve been left out.
I don’t even know if I can call myself an infant anymore.
I was raised in a home where I was called a baby, and that was my entire identity.
I was born with that name.
I grew up in a house where my name was always Colic and I wasn’t allowed to call my family by that name because I was an infant.
The baby boy name Colic has been my identity for the past decade, and for many years, I’ve wanted to be able to give that name back.
I want to be recognized for what I am, not for what my parents think I should be.
I’m also afraid that if I have a baby boy’s name, my children will think I’m a baby again.
But as I get older, I’m beginning to understand that it’s just not going to be possible for me to go back to a name that my parents thought was appropriate for me as a child.
The last thing I want is for my children to think I am some kind of “puppy” named Colic.
I’ve had to deal with the fact that my own children and my mother never learned that my father is a man.
We didn’t have a name for him until he was four years old, and until he started going to church and going to school.
I didn’t know his name until he turned seven years old.
And until he went to a school named after him.
When I got married and had a baby girl, my husband told me that I would never be able be Colic anymore.
But I wanted to stay Colic so badly.
I wanted my baby girl to be my baby boy, my baby sister.
But the thought of that didn’t leave my mind.
And the thought made me feel like a baby at the same time.
I felt like a kid at a party.
When my family was told that I didn, in fact, have a colic baby, my father became enraged and made a comment about me being a “whore.”
He said, “You have no idea how many times you’ve been to church.
You’ve been called a whore, you’ve had your name called, and now you’re pregnant with your child.
Do you really think that you have a chance to be a good Christian mother?”
I thought he was being serious, and as a matter of fact, I didn.
But he was trying to make me feel bad about myself, which made me angry.
When I looked at him, I saw him holding the Bible in front of him.
I thought he might be trying to say something about me, but when I looked into his eyes, I found out that he was saying the exact same thing he was always saying about me.
He was telling me that God was going to punish me for not being “a good Christian woman.”
It was a very hurtful comment.
I started crying.
I cried about it for days afterward.
But that was only the beginning.
After I had cried for days, I decided to take action.
I started reading a book called “The God of the Bible” by Rev. David B. Brown, and the title of the book was “The Colic Child.”
I read it to myself every day, and when I read it, I began to see that the Colic name was not what I was meant to be called.
As a baby baby, I could never be called by that baby name, but as I grew older, the baby boy was my identity.
My identity had been shaped by my father’s name.
I cried for a week after reading the book, and after that, I cried for weeks.
I even cried for months.
And yet, no matter how hard I tried to change the name I was given, the pain of that name was still there.
I knew that it was hurting me, and it hurt so much that I just had to get rid of it.
I needed to give my baby baby name back, and this was what I did.
The first thing I did was take a letter from my father and send it to my mother.
The letter said, in part, “Dear Colic: We are not sure what to do with you anymore, but we want to give you a new name that’s going to make you feel better and that will make us feel proud.
So we’re going to give this name to you.
It’s not our fault that you are so weak.”
I didn’t even ask my mother what I wanted her to do.
I just gave