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When our youngest was born, it was fairly evident within the first week that we had ourselves a crier. Our first four babies had been pretty easy, as long as they were being held. But this little guy...he would scream and scream, arching his back and writhing out of our arms, no matter what we did, or how much we jiggled. Sleep eluded us at night, and rest during the daylight hours was a phantom. The other kids worried terribly over this, and did their best to help ease my aching back muscles by taking turns walking the floor with their baby brother.
Around 9pm every evening, he would finally calm down for about an hour, only to awaken again with a vengeance and scream for an hour or so longer. It was during this sweet spot one evening that I decided to go grocery shopping. I dared not leave little man at home with his daddy, because -even if nothing helped when he was screaming- having mama around always helped the most. So, I strapped the still screaming baby in the car seat, grabbed my shopping list, and pulled out of the garage.
He screamed the whole way to the store, slowly loosing vigor and sounding more and more like a strangled duck as the minutes dragged on. The moment I pulled into the Meijers parking lot, he fell asleep. Just in time. I strapped on my Ergo carrier, and gingerly lifted his sob wracked body from beneath the straps of his seat. I tucked him into the carrier and hugged him against my chest in the hopes that the smell of mommy would keep him content. I breathed a quick prayer and shut the van door.
As I was grabbing the diaper bag from the front seat, another van pulled in beside mine, and a young mom hauled a baby seat from the back and plopped her happy baby into a cart. I didn't stick around to chat or even smile. I was on a mission...but beyond that, I didn't want to talk to anyone, and certainly not to a mother whose small child was easy. Not tonight.
The first thirty minutes of my quest through Meijers were peaceful. I was stopped more than once by sweet old ladies who wanted to peek into the carrier, or know how old he was, or tell me how cute he was. I started to relax a bit, and slowed my step...I even looked at things that weren't on the list. Hooray, I thought to myself, I can do this.
It may have been the cold air that woke him, but the peace abruptly ended by the frozen chicken. There was no slow crescendo. It was a sforzando of mass proportions. I pulled him out of the carrier and jiggled and hushed and rocked. Nothing. Switched to the sling. Not having it.
My grocery cart, full to the brim with slowly melting food, could not be ignored any more than my siren of a child. All that could be done was to finish the trip in record time and blood-curdling glory. I tucked him in my arm and under my chin so that I could push the cart with one hand and my hips and then proceeded through the last three aisles, grabbing anything that looked like it might alleviate world hunger.
A moment before, the store had seemed empty. But now, every soul had emerged from the shadows and was staring. I could feel their eyes burning holes. Some eyes spoke pity, others anger, some disdain. But every one of them was on me, the woman with the screaming infant in the grocery at 10:30pm. What a terrible fool.
I made it to the check out, and pried every item one by one out of my cart while he screamed in my arms. Eventually I stopped apologizing to the people around me and just kept my eyes on the floor. The longer I waited, the more he screamed, and the more they stared. And low and behold, there she was, three rows down: the mama with the silent happy baby, checking out at the same time as me.
shame. anger. frustration. hopelessness.
The cashier took pity on me and sent another employee along to help me get to the van. Once the groceries were in the trunk, I slumped into the front seat with the screaming banshee. Diaper change, gripe water and nursing were all futile. Nothing would stop him. Nothing. I sat there, staring into his squinted eyes, wondering what I had done wrong...how was a mother of five fully incapable of calming her baby? Why had I been foolish enough to bring him along, to take this risk?
Then she came out.
Baby still tranquil, grocery shopping done. She was there, in all her maternal glory. As I sat in my car, just trying to breathe, she calmly unloaded her food and set her happy baby in his spot in the van. She climbed into the front seat and started the car. But she didn't leave. She just sat there looking down.
I looked away, and tried not to notice that she was still there...until I saw out of the corner of my eye that she was no longer in her van, but was approaching mine. I glanced up to see her standing outside my window with a napkin in hand.
I rolled down the glass, she handed me the napkin, and I heard her whisper, "Hang in there."
Choking back sobs, I nodded, and she walked back to her van, and drove away.
I looked down into my clenched fist, and through my fountain of tears, saw this:
There are many different types of crying. Some tears are joyful, others not. Some cries are shallow and short-lived. But some cries, and the ones that do the most good, come from deep down in your toes. I sat in that front seat and sobbed, with each breath reaching back to support yet another wave of release. Minutes crawled on, as little man and I shared our burdens through our tears with only the angels to hear us. I cried out of exhaustion, and sadness, and frustration.
But it was more than that.
I cried because, in a moment where I felt that all was lost, and there was no light to be seen, God made it very clear to me that He had not made any mistakes. Through the words of a perfect stranger, God had spoken to the depths of my mothering soul: words of peace and comfort that pulled back the dark veil of despair and filled me instead with something I had lost. Hope.
