Yesterday, I was sitting in the pediatrician’s office, waiting for a consultation with Henry’s doctor. He wasn’t with me. So I was the lone mother sans child in the well waiting room. Even though the waiting room was the “well” one, there were still people hacking and there’s technically no wall separating the “sick” from the “well” so I’m unsure how that works. Germs just know which side to stay on?
Anyway, when I sat down, I realized there was a baby crying in one of the rooms. It was loud and screechy and muffled. I tried to drown it out by watch Cars on the big screen and by watching the little guy next to me walk across the chairs all proud-like while his mother stood anxiously by his side waiting for him to fall.
The screaming didn’t stop. I take that back, the baby did stop for a second. And then started a wailing, sad cry. My heart fluttered.
I recognized the feeling. I didn’t like it.
The couple sitting by me was discussing their household budget. I tried to listen to them discuss their mortgage, phone bills, school tuition, and whatnot instead of listening to the crying. But it didn’t help.
There was a small baby in the back of the office crying a cry that was causing me to have an anxiety attack.
Recently I’ve realized that I can’t be around small babies. Babies who are newborn to about 2 months old, I just can’t even look at. It fills me with all the emotions and then my heart feels like it’s about to explode. Apparently, small babies crying for long periods of time cause this same feeling.
It’s been ten and a half years since Charlie cried unconsolably for hours before stopping. It’s a sound I’ll never forget. And then the silence that followed is a sound I’ll never forget.
And apparently sitting in a doctor’s office listening to that same sound brings that memory back even stronger.