Thursday, February 22, 2007

Crying Over Spilt Milk (and everything else)

Farrah is a cry baby. Not more than the average baby, but not necessarily less either. Sometimes I watch her when she cries and wonder what life would be like if I acted like her. For instance, if the pacifier she has been sucking on for a mere 10 seconds falls out of her mouth (mind you, she did it to herself by pushing it out with her tongue), the waterworks begin. Not only are the tears streaming but there is howling that goes along with it. She stops almost instantly once I put it back in her mouth, just to start up again when she pushes it back out. Picture, if you will, me at work. I've typed up a contract and just finished printing it. I go to grab the paper and it suddenly, without warning, falls out of my grip and sadly drops to the floor below about three inches from my hand. First, my vision gets blurred by tears starting to form, followed by shallow breaths. Suddenly, I begin to scream and cry while kicking my feet around and throwing my arms up in the air and waving them around. A kind co-worker quickly comes to my aid and picks up this sad piece of paper off the floor and gently hands it to me. I stop my crying and smile. Unfortuately, as I take the paper and go to put in on my desk, it slips from my grip and the tantrum once again begins. If I honestly thought I could get away with that, I would probably do it everyday and more likely than not, thoroughly enjoy it. However, I'm pretty sure after the first tantrum, I would be asked to leave the premises immediately. Babies, on the other hand, get away with this well into their toddler days. And we as parents, keep falling into their trap. As Mike refers to it, a baby's shrieks are like nails along a chalk board. Her cries make me sad and crazy all at once. Last night, we had a very interesting cry. Farrah was lying in her co-sleeper sucking away on her pacifier perfectly content when all of the sudden, I sneezed. Her eyes were big with surprise, but no reaction. Whew. Then out of the blue, another sneeze. This time, Farrah's eyes closed tight and her pouty mouth was wide open with no sound coming out. Oh, God, here it comes. I scared the shit out of her with my second explosive sneeze. The scream-cry followed the long drawn out silent-cry. I quickly picked her up and tried to console her by bouncing her around, telling her it was okay, that I was sorry, and giving her a couple shhhhs. Again, what if I behaved this way in my daily life? You know when you're outside on a walk and someone honks their horn? You get startled, right? Would you sit there and scream bloody-murder? Probably not. I know I sound terrible making fun of her, but mind you, every time she even lets out a slight whimper, it tugs hard at my heart strings. That is why when she has spit her pacifier out for the 20th time in a matter of 10 minutes, crying each time, I will always rush to her rescue and put that silly piece of plastic and rubber back in her mouth to keep her happy. She has figured me out. And even though it can make getting ready in the morning very difficult, I'm happy if she's happy.

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