No Silent Nights Here

Our little girl is screaming. Again. Once a year, at different times of the year, she goes through a 2-6 week period of being uber-fussy.
Actually, that's putting it mildly. Kinda like saying the Grand Canyon is somewhat large.
Her fussiness is akin to a nuclear meltdown. Actually, several nuclear meltdowns a day.
But it's the worst at night. Like clockwork, at 1 AM, she wakes up and the screaming commences. We've tried everything. And I mean EVER.Y.THING.
She doesn't sleep. She cries, she screams, she beats her fists in the air and kicks her legs. Then, after about 45 minutes to an hour, she calms down and is happy. She plays in her room.
Until the screaming starts again.
We've given her music. Water. Snacks. Medicine. Baby Einstein. Lots and lots and lots of cuddles. We've changed her diet. Taken her to the pediatrician. Talked it over with her teachers, behavioral therapists, occupational therapist, other parents.
No one knows a damn thing.
No one knows how to make it better.
So the screaming continues.
Until, miraculously, it stops. And she's back to her usual, happy self. The girl who tucks herself in at night and wakes up early, happy and excited for the new day. Who gives hugs and kisses, who giggles and wants tickles.
But we're not there right now.
She can't tell us what's wrong. Where it hurts. What she needs. She doesn't sleep. We don't sleep. We try to be patient, but sometimes it just gets to be too much. There is sometimes yelling. Or crying from the grown-ups. We are exhausted, worried, and heartsick. We can't make it better for our little girl.
And it kills me.
Every time.