So for as long as I can remember, I've been sensitive to sound.
Case in point: the Wizard of Oz. I can't tell you how many times I saw that movie while I was growing up. But I stress the word "saw." I didn't actually hear the movie until somewhere in my teenage years. I hated the witch, specifically her voice. As a small child I just couldn't stand her laugh.
So, from the first time watching the movie, and the first time hearing that wicked cackle, until the age where I was simply too embarrassed to do so any longer, I watched the movie with my hands firmly clamped over my ears. When my cousins would duck under the covers to hide from the flying monkeys, I would stoically sit, soaking in the vivid Technicolor of it all. You see, I was safe. I couldn't hear them.
And the trend continues well into my new life as the father of a screamer. Oh, mostly my son as a calm, curious baby who fusses only for good reasons such as gas, dropped pacifiers, wet diapers, poop-filled diapers, hunger, frustrations, occasional boredom, or being awake.
The problem is he can go from happy as a feather floating on the wind to 7-alarm, habanero chewin', "holy crap what are they doing to my penis" in less than a second. And once he hits that level, it takes a while to cool down. The diaper goes poopy, no problem, daddy can have that thing off and his hiney clean in 30 seconds. But the screaming may not stop for four or five more minutes...on a good day.
I can handle the screaming to get my attention. But once the problem has been solved...
Please understand, we aren't talking about logic here. Trust me, I know it is not logical when I find myself reasoning with a 3-week old infant that crying once daddy has arrived is about as useful as eating clam chowder with a fork. But that doesn't help me deal with the screaming.
A mp3 player does. I say mp3 player rather than iPod for a reason, I'm too cheap to buy a good one (though I may have found one a friend is no longer using). And so I have the cheapest player I could find loaded up with music that allows me to deal.
Five Blind Boys of Alabama, Enya (go on and make fun, it works), and most importantly, the soundtrack to Waking Ned Devine. Nothing like Irish fiddle to transform a dark, swirling vortex of your child's screaming agony into nothing more than the tiniest of ripples on a misty Oklahoma pond at sunrise.
So take my word, father's-to-be, register for a diaper genie. Register for booties and onsies and blankets and boppies. But whatever you do, don't forget to register for the iPod. It may well save your child from being throw through a window some day.
-BPA
