Screaming Infant

An infant was not happy.  I knew this because of the screams of displeasure filling the airwaves with each exhale (the baby’s screams and not the mother’s).  Looking around, the other passengers on board our plane could not help but reach my same conclusion.  But if I were to smile and tell the mother that her baby was not happy, I do not think I would be alive to write this today.  And there’s not a jury in the world that would convict her of my accidental death.  At a minimum, I’d have severe facial pain and a rapidly flowing bloody nose.

I focused on the pattern.  It was a scream of displeasure followed by a quick inhale to reload.  Then it happened again.  There was a scream of displeasure followed by a quick inhale to reload.  Can you hear it?  That pattern actually sounded beautiful.  Perhaps crazy, but I seriously enjoyed the beauty of that sound.  In fact, I used to hear the beauty of that very familiar sound quite often … not so long ago.

Eventually, the sound in our plane began to diminish.  The outcries of the child soon ceased.  The infant’s outbursts were gone.  They were replaced by the voices of adults.

At this moment, our house is quiet as I write this.  The sounds in our house have diminished.  The outcries of our children have ceased.  Our infant's outbursts have gone.  They are replaced by the voices of adults.

Our twenty-something year old babies have left our nest.  Over the years, we've changed a lot of diapers, we've bandaged a lot of skinned knees, and we've seen countless episodes of Barney the Dinosaur.  And I sorta miss that stuff.

Without warning, our quiet house is disrupted by my sudden scream of displeasure.  Yeah, I thought so … there's no need for me to reload.  I like hearing the sound of an infant scream much better.

Our house is now quiet again.  So, I think I’ll go slouch on the sofa and watch another episode of Barney the Dinosaur.  (Of course I’ll deny it if you tell anybody).