When your mother and I first started having conversations about giving birth to you -- as you will understand later, this took a lot of convincing on my part -- I had no idea what to expect from a tiny little cooing ball of baby cheeks. Honestly, I hadn't even imagined that much. You were just an abstract idea, more an opportunity to share in what many people consider one of life's most greatest joys. So you took me by surprise the first time that Mom left you alone with me and you started crying inconsolably. By surprise I mean utter fear, mortification and shock. It is really hard to describe the experience of holding you to my chest while you scream like I'm poking you with needles! I was confused, flustered and panicked for a good 30 minutes. This almost never happens to me in any other part of my life. Of course, that was not the last time that you did that to me.
But I got better. It only took one or two more times before I learned that you are a creature of simple needs at this age (less than 3 months). It's either sleep (bouncing, cuddling, walking, swaddling shhh-ing or some combination thereof being the required remedy), food (mostly Mom's job, occasionally a prepared bottle), or Mom. Easy, right?
Well not last night. Last night, while Mom was driving us home, I sat in the back seat with you (we have a 1997 Honda Accord that your grand parents gave us) and tried to keep you busy for the final 50 mile stretch of our journey. At first you were fine. Intermittent crying (mostly angry protest or bouts of tiredness) followed by some smiling. A little curiosity about the camera that I kept shoving in your face.
One quick aside... while this might be misconstrued as child abuse by some, you must know that you have the cutest little habit when you cry: you open your mouth, let out your little wail, and waggle your little tongue at us. You must understand that Mom and I grew up watching cartoons of babies doing the exact same thing. So to see our little girl exhibiting such comic behavior so earnestly was ... entertaining ... for us. Don't get me wrong: you are so much more adorable when you smile (and you do so often) and we would never make you cry on purpose. The aforementioned camera interest refers to my attempts to capture that little quirk of yours while in progress. Mom and I have been witness to so many of your cutest, sweetest moments and we have naught but our faulty (well, mine's faulty anyway) memories. You were a non-compliant child when it came to the camera. But I digress...
So we were about 20 miles from the house when you decided that you were too tired to sit in you car seat any longer. Thus, (I'm guessing here, of course) you started crying with an ever increasing abandon, intending release from your unendurable entrapment. We were okay for the first half -- nothing we hadn't seen or heard before -- but when you got to the real wailing, I could feel the panic starting to rise. I'm sure that if you ask Mom she will verify that I looked as scared as a deer right about then. I certainly remember looking up into the rear view mirror and seeing her look of concern (she had only my face to go on since you were in a rear facing car seat).
But golly can you belt it out when you want to. The normal tremolo went away, your voice cleared up and took on a staccato stutter as you really set in for a good protest cry. It's hard to say whether it was the car seat, gas pains, hunger pains or crankiness that drove you on, but you closed your eyes and really put your heart into it. I hope I never hear such a thing again. I tried rocking the seat from side to side (no effect), loud and offset shhh-ing (some effect brought on by what looked like the Moro reflex) and grabbing you hands. None of this settled you. You stopped responding to anything that I would do and that's when I really got scared.
It wasn't until we pulled into the driveway, got you into the house and out of your seat that you changed your tune from the heart-stopping chopped cries. Your mother and I were both in a daze by then. Our focus was wholly on making you comfortable and chastising ourselves for not pulling over sooner. Of course, we were also tired from the trip and emotionally drained so we weren't thinking clearly either.
Luckily for us (and you), everything is fine today. You were tired last night and slept like a little stone. To date, you never went to sleep so quickly. And today you seemed mostly back to your old self. Or new self since you seem to change on us weekly. You continue to cry in a clearer voice than before and I suspect that you have learned to listen to your own voice somewhat (or you're just too horse). But we'll see. For now, it's a relief that you would much rather spend your time smiling at us than bawling.
So I'll wrap this up. Welcome to my world, little one. You don't know yet what a blessing and joy you are to your mother and me. I have achieved a few great goals in my life -- things that have made me cry -- and every time I see you smile up at me and laugh or coo I tally one more. It always brings a tear to my eye. You are precious to me and Mom.
