My daughter shot into this world in less than three hours. After that brief second of silence, she let out the most delicious, life-filling scream I had ever heard. At that moment, I felt so relieved because in my arms was an 8 lb. 5 oz. ball of soul. And, she kept on screaming.
Don’t get me wrong, she was never colicky, or a difficult infant, but her major form of communication, even when she was 1 day old, was through her passionate screams. Now, exactly 16 months later, the screams are still there, but mixed in with a fiery little personality. She screams when she’s pissed off, hungry, scared, fired up, happy, excited, and even when she’s just loving life. She screams with delight when she hears Alicia Keys, and screams with anger as soon as I turn it off.
Her screams are so dramatic. My husband says she gets it from me. Probably. Sometimes when she gets really pissed off, she takes a deep breath, and no sound comes out…and her face freezes, and we wait. We hold her at an arms length from each eardrum, turn our heads, and just wait for the storm to hit.
When I’m on a plane, or in public, I forewarn all about her innate talent of screaming. A few months ago when I flew with her from Oakland to D.C., I told everybody around me that my daughter was a screamer. They took one look at her smiling face and decided it couldn’t be that bad. I even took measures prior to the flight to try and prevent this screaming. I ran her, fed her, kept her up from her morning nap, in hopes of her just passing our on the plane…which she had done in the past. I brought toys, books and all her favorite snacks. And sure enough, as soon as the flight took off, she passed out. I was so proud of myself, I settled back, waited to order a glass of wine, pulled out my book “Killing Pablo” and figured I had about 3 hours of chill time.
I was so wrong. Stuck in the middle between her car seat and a rather large woman’s breast, I could barely move. My daughter, whose world had expanded exponentially due the newly acquired trait of walking, wanted to move. I felt bad trying to get her out every 30 minutes, because the lady next to me was having a hard time moving, and I didn’t want to burden her as well. So, to make a long story short, she pretty much screamed the entire way. And, I admit it, I was praying a bottle of Benedryl would magically drop into my lap so my kid could pass out…because the looks I got from people were straight from hell.
I was SO “that mom”. The one that is dealing with her screaming child, as you are looking at yours thinking “Thank god that’s not me!” as you hug your calm, sleeping child overwhelmed with gracious love. Well, here’s the thing, I was always the mom who was grateful her kids were pretty chill on the plane. The mom who would drink up compliments from other passengers who commented on how well her kids behaved. Let’s just say, if there were anybody on that flight who was thinking about having kids…my daughter just made them rethink the whole idea.
Now, I’m about to travel 23.6 hours across the globe, with both of my kids, alone, and I feel like after that flight, it really couldn’t get much worse…and if I have to, I’ll deal with being “that mom” for the plane ride, because, after my kids get a chance to experience two months in India, I’ll be that other mom…the one who gave them a chance to see the world. When I look at it like that, her screams don’t seem all that bad…because the other screams she will grace us with, as soon as she touches foot in India, will be unforgettable.
