Monday, March 30, 2009

Another Jack Jack Attack ~ Becoming a Grandparent Part II

Welcome back to Jack, he is officially addicted to blogging.  I'm hoping he continues to use my blog as his outlet because the free material is always welcome! Thanks Jack!

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(Preface: Our oldest son and his lovely wife had their first child, our first grandchild, on Christmas Eve. As I anticipated a new career as a grandfather, my past experiences with The Babies of Others came to mind.)

The story continues with Part Two: The Astonishing Baby

My second new baby human experience was less visually jolting; it was a more auditory experience. This baby was the spawn of a family friend of a family friend, and we were invited to tag along on a courtesy call to drop off a gift. Because we didn’t know the new parents well, I was obliged by my friends and my wife to be on my best behavior.

I pledged to operate in smile-and-nod mode for the duration of the visit.

Walking from the car to the back porch, I noticed a sort of oscillating, medium pitched, droning noise. It was similar to a siren, but not exactly like the common sirens to which we are accustomed: police, fire, tornado, alien invasion, in-laws. My theory was that a TV inside the house had its volume turned up and the program was a disaster movie or a cop show or a game show featuring sirens, or it was Cable Channel 798 – The Siren Network. A reasonable theory, methought (The gratuitous use of a fake Shakespearian colloquialism may give this story an air of quaintness, perchance.).

Our friends rapped on the kitchen door jauntily. We stood on the back porch patiently. I asked the others if they heard that noise. “What noise?”; “Not really, no”; “Don’t think so,” came the replies.

The door opened and the proud new papa (beaming like a goofball) and that noise, greeted us. Now everyone heard it.

Baby was crying. Hard. This was not the soft “waa, waa” that people mimic when they’re making fun of a whiner. No siree. This baby was pissed off about something. Really pissed.

There were seven or eight people congregated in the living room, all talking loudly so they could be heard somewhat. It was like being at a huge public event where normal tones just wouldn’t cut it.

My initial thought, other than to sprint out of there right now, was that this noise blast was an impressive feat for a two week old unit locked away in an upstairs bedroom.

I made nonsensical small, but loud, talk with the people in the living room. We screamed about the weather, sports, how’s the job going, the usual stuff. Not a peep about the crying baby. Not even a passing, casual, “The kid’s got a set of lungs on him, doesn’t he?” Sworn to mind my manners, I made no comment about the wailing.

And that’s most certainly what it was. A constant, vitriolic, piercing wail. There were hardly any breaks in the wailing. This baby evidently didn’t need to pause for a breath. Wail, wail, wail. On and on the Crying Baby wailed. One gentleman gritted his teeth slightly. Otherwise, the adults exercised superhuman tolerance.

I heard my wife bellow to someone, “Colic, most likely!” The person shook her head knowingly and expressed sadness.

And then we were invited to see the Crying Baby. I said, “Naaaa, that’s OK, I’m good here.” My wife grabbed my arm and told me that we were now going to see the baby.

We walked up the stairs. The stairway was dark, ominous. The constant wailing added to the macabre ambience. My mind flashed on scenes from the movie The Exorcist. Climbing dark stairs. The wailing. Walking slowly down a dark hallway. The wailing. A bar of light seeping out from the bottom of a closed but rattling bedroom door. The wailing. Scattered nervous adult voices. And that oppressive, egregious, stultifying, wholly unnecessary wailing.

I walked right past the Crying Baby’s room, stood at the end of the hallway, and looked out the window at the full moon. I imagined myself sitting on the moon enjoying a Vernors Ginger Ale in the peace and quiet of an earthlit evening even if the air was a tad thin.

My wife grabbed my arm again and marched me into the Crying Baby’s room to witness the spectacle.

It was a numbing experience.

I was told later that I had placed my hands tightly over my ears and sported a deliriously pained expression during our visitation with the Crying Baby. It was also reported that my only comment was that maybe the baby was chilly and another couple hundred blankets would stop the infernal wailing. I vaguely recall exiting the room, scampering back downstairs, and hustling out the kitchen door while apologizing for our early departure to meet another pressing appointment.

The baby had wailed freakishly throughout every second of our time in the house. That was one pissed off baby.

Next: Part Three, The Unbelievable Baby


5 Responses to "Another Jack Jack Attack ~ Becoming a Grandparent Part II"
  1. Stacy Uncorked said...
    March 30, 2009 at 6:40 AM

    I had to go back and read part one I enjoyed part two so much! ;) Definitely sounds like that was one pissed off baby - I don't think I would have lasted in the house as long as you did, Jack! :)

    Looking forward to Part Three! :)

  2. zelzee said...
    March 30, 2009 at 7:36 AM

    How funny! Men usually are uncomfortable around new born babies....and I am the type that will drop that baby right in their arms just to watch them squirm.

    I am sick.........I know

  3. septembermom said...
    March 30, 2009 at 7:39 PM

    There is nothing like a crying newborn. After having 3 boys, I had my little princess. She turned out to be the biggest screamer. She got thrown out of the hospital nursery and her christening because she would get too loud. Now at 3 1/2, she yells on occasion, but gratefully not at that pitch. Fun post and enjoy your grandchild :)

  4. LadyStyx said...
    March 30, 2009 at 7:45 PM

    I know I wouldnt have lasted even that long in the house. My husband, on the otherhand, would have done rather well.

  5. Ute said...
    March 31, 2009 at 7:17 AM

    zelzee.... LMAO!!!!


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