Monday, November 12, 2007

Cutest Banshee in the World

I'm starting to figure out how the system works. These babies are designed to give while they take take taketh away. My little seven pound peanut was the sweetest thing I'd ever seen and then there was this explosion of girth and rolls and suddenly peanut was babysaurus and I mourned the tiny creature who was no more. But hey - this new version smiles and seems to look right at me, like she KNOWS me. And that roly poly babydoll suddenly started moving and flinging herself off furniture and she scared the shit out of me, but look at that head control! And all the while there was this underlying easygoingness, this hey man, I'm cool, you're cool, so let's go shopping, let's eat out at a restaurant or go visit your friends because I'm just gonna chill. And regardless of all that recklessly fast, unsettling change, that cool, that baby Fonzie I'll call it, stayed the same. Until a couple of weeks ago. The day after the robbery if you want to get specific and read way too much into it. Suddenly Fonzie gave way to this holy screaming terror, this shrieking banshee that terrified customers at the store ("She sounds like she is in so much PAIN") not to mention her clueless parents. Suddenly none of the tricks worked. No pacifier, no daddy, just "I will scream like someone is repeatedly stabbing my leg with a fork until I am in mama's arms." The books are no help. On separation anxiety, it counsels to treasure the sobbing, blood curdling screams because in a few short years she won't give two shits about mowing you down with her car if it meant getting to your wallet on the way to the mall, so treasure this time with your little one. WTF?? How could somebody you've gotten to know so intimately change so fundamentally with no warning? Seasoned moms to whom I've posed that question just smile and look at me with a mixture of pity and triumph. What does that smile say? Silly mama, the one constant about babies is that there is no constant. It's the kind of advice I hope I'll be able to casually offer one day to a future quivering, clueless mom. Right now I must content myself with the knowledge that when she's not signalling the coming apocalypse with her bellowing, she makes the cutest little babbling sounds. Like dadadadadada. When she claws at her daddy's face to force him to deliver her to mama, I think he takes the dadadada to heart.

p.s. Toof, you are officially on my shit list. I don't blame you for not showing up yet. Buddy, you are going down.

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