Have you ever come across one of those screaming babies? The
ones who are carried around all day and most of the night?
The ones who lose interest in a toy after two minutes and
then start screaming with renewed vigor. When a friend phones
and says, "I can hear that the baby needs you; I'll phone
again later," you reply, "Don't worry, we're used to this
background noise, there is nothing I can do about it."
If you take this baby out, he will invariably scream all the
way and well-meaning friends, neighbors, relatives and
passersby will give you unsolicited advice. "He's too hot/
too cold. He's hungry,/ thirsty. He needs a clean diaper."
True, all likely possibilities, but he will still be
screaming when he is not too hot/ too cold . . . . . .
etc.
Their mothers have dark rings under their eyes, and when,
well after midnight, the little despot has finally succumbed
to fatigue for a few hours, they discover that the unwashed
dinner dishes are still in the sink, who is to blame them if
they leave them there till the morning?
The above passage describes my youngest child. She is a
gorgeous smiling little thing for a short while and a
vociferous screamer the rest of the day. She is carried
around all her waking hours. My six-year-old holds her, then
it's my turn. The seven-year-old relieves me, my turn again .
. . . I spend much of the day coaxing her to try a bottle,
but she has amazingly strong little fists and a firmly closed
little mouth when she is drawing breath for another bout of
screaming.
The experienced baby sitter says she has never before met a
baby that age who is a determined hunger striker. She will
not touch fruit or vegetables which I prepare so lovingly. If
the temperature of her cereal is ever so slightly hotter or
colder than she is accustomed to, she starts coughing
alarmingly. If I offer her a spoonful of soup, she chokes on
it. She will occasionally condescend to drink a small amount
of formula, enough for a week-old baby!
My sister suggested a change of formula . . . it didn't help.
My mother, like the aforementioned passersby, insisted that
she was hungry. She was, but what was I supposed to do about
it.? A friend confided that her baby was allergic to formula.
Maybe, but this baby cries about everything.
I took comfort from the fact that she was so delightful when
she was being held, it must be impossible for her to be
suffering from allergies. Secondly, I thought, she is surely
not going to be carried around any more when she gets
married. The time will pass. If she thrives on attention,
let's give it to her.
After one particularly exhausting day, when the house was in
an uproar, I realized that there was no formula in the house,
and by evening Her Majesty would usually deign to drink a
bottle with the aid of much distraction and coaxing, when she
felt hungry enough. I sent my 'big' boy out with a shopping
list and strict instructions to buy one particular brand of
formula. He was really tired when he brought home all the
items on the list, minus the formula. He could not explain
it, he had picked it up first, he had paid for it . . . it
showed up on the receipt, but the fact remained, no
formula.
It was quite unfair on my part to scold him, but tired
mothers are not always fair to their offspring. He is such a
good-natured little boy, and it was really not his fault. As
if on cue, a neighbor knocked for something. I asked her if
she had some formula X in the house. No, she had none but as
it happened, she was just going shopping. An angel from
Heaven.
I wrote down the exact name of the formula and described the
packaging. I stressed that it had to be that particular one
and not the soya. An hour later, the neighbor's boy knocked.
He held out a bag containing . . . soya, of a kind I had
never tried. It was the cheapest brand, not suitable for her
age at all. They had told me at the clinic that it was not
worth trying it at all.
It is wrong to harbor uncharitable thoughts against a kind
neighbor , but what had happened to her? I could not have
given her clearer instructions. Besides, I had written down
the name of the required item. My mother always taught me
that if you want something done correctly, do it yourself.
Well what was I to do now? By now, the decibel level was
several degrees higher than usual; moreover the shops were
closed. In desperation, I ripped open the package and thought
that if she was hungry enough she would make an exception
this once, even if it did not suit her delicate palate.
We looked on in astonishment. The little lady grabbed at that
bottle without the usual antics on my part, and preliminary
spitting on her part, and drank the contents in one fell
swoop. I prepared a second bottle, which she devoured in
great delight, although not quite as greedily. Unbelievably,
she finished a third bottle and fell asleep without a
squeak!
That was it. She gained weight rapidly, she has stopped her
endless screaming and eats regular meals. I have no idea why
she cried ceaselessly, long before she had ever tasted
anything other than mother's milk. I do not understand why
she began eating after tasting this formula bought by
mistake. Nor do I understand why she has stopped screaming.
Hashem sent an angel to my door; how else was it possible for
an intelligent woman to make such a mistake? Furthermore, I
have learned that even if it is your sixth child or your
tenth, you do not know it all. We think we understand our
children and they never cease to surprise us!
