On Crying

In my line of work you hear a lot of crying. And whining. And begging. Each child develops their own voice, even though they don't initially speak words. One of the first sonic emissions I become accustomed to when I meet a child is the "mommy don't leave me!" cry. I remember my first experience with this type of wail. I was 9 years old. (Back where it all began, but with a different set of cousins.) K, to me, was the first "baby" cousin on my Dad's side. There were plenty of older ones, but she became the object of my affection--someone to cuddle and take care of like a "Betsy Wetsy" doll, but heavier. Her cherub face and pink cheeks were like porcelain and I doted on her endlessly. Unfortunately, we didn't see each other THAT much, so when she was old enough to associate my face with "not my mother's face," I heard the wail. You could see her gear up for it. At first there was a brief moment of surprise, then realization. The eyes would wrinkle at the corners. Her chest would heave with the depth of breath. Her mouth would open and...

"RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR...."

The cry erupted, lost in a roll of the tongue, worthy of the "rrrruffles have rrrridges" baby.



I remember vividly when she began to crawl. Hopelessly chasing her mother from room to room, with me close behind. It was adorable. She's a beautiful young woman these days, but I'll never forget her as a tired infant with her cherub face, sweet curls, and wicked linguistic skills.

The next blog-worthy cry comes from a little boy I only watched on occasion. Though our time together was short, his cry cannot be forgotten. When his mom left I would hear this:



Hence, he is forever known as Chewbacca. (A nickname put in place by his own mother, no less!)

Every child has their own way of expressing themselves. It's up to us to interpret them.