It’d be easy, I’d just have to mimic Isobel’s recently improved whine. I can’t think when she’s making that noise – do any other moms have that problem? All I really want to do when that noise is coming out of her mouth is drive a metal (not plastic) crocheting hook into each of my ear drums.
But this shall pass. Because I remember when newborn Isobel cries were the worst noise ever. Now I hear a baby cry and go, ‘aww. Listen to that little goat go. Haha, not mine!” And now, I look back on those 10 hours of crying a day, every day a week for four moths of colic and I’m like, “dude! You totally aced colic. All you had to do was cry three times a week for three hours and you totally beat that by like, a million percent! High fives!”
And then came the power saw noises. If we were riding up the street, stroller-styles and she was looking away, you would seriously think that the construction site on your right was still going, after hours. You’d be looking for hot building guys in flannel shirts and cargo pants and heavy, authoritative boots. Then you’d remember there’s no such thing as a hot building guy, because the ones who could actually hang onto a job here for any amount of time have had their faces warped my falling chisels, alcoholism and sun damage. Yes, I said it. The hot ones are behind the site, at risk of getting fired, but still smokin a doobie while talking about the last ass they tapped. The twenty year old ass. Last night.
Moving on.
After the power tools noises came the first kind of whine. It wasn’t so much high pitched, and it wasn’t too loud. It was bearable because it involved no tears, an obviously fake sad face – which was fun to laugh at – and she was easily distracted from it. Oh, the amount of times I’ve yelled, “Hey, Isobel, look! It’s Santa.”
Ah, memories.
This new whine. It causes the protective membranes on my organs to melt off. I lose all ability. I have to stop whatever I’m doing and just be with the noise because during it’s visit, it’s impossible to even cut watermelon. Good thing she stopped eventually, so that I could, allowing my subsequent inhalation of a quarter of a watermelon. This was after a croissant and two bowls of peppery beef, carrot and potato stew.
Maybe the new whine is a weight management alarm.
Now, to test that…will it go off again when I tiptoe to the freezer for the ice cream?
