MY BABY’S VOICE

It takes a new mother a few weeks, but before long, she can tell by the tone of her baby’s voice what it needs. One cry might be, “I’m hungry.” A more insistent tone would tell her, “I need some cuddling—right now.” Next in urgency comes, “Something hurts.” A scream could say, “It hurts really bad!”

As time goes by, a mother’s skills of interpretation are honed to a fine point. She hears that little plea, tilts her head to listen, and tells Daddy, “Junior is wet and I’m up to my elbows in Ajax. Go change him.”

On occasion, Daddy will comply. If the diaper situation is more unpleasant, Daddy will put on his suit-of-invisibility which includes a non-hearing hoodie. Mommy might as well rinse her hands and go do it herself.

This gift of interpretation is not only limited to human babies. I spent the morning neatening up the house and then sat down at the sewing machine to work on my son David’s costume for next Halloween. In the old days, he needed it “tomorrow.” Now, he lets me know ahead of time. It took 50 years for him to see that light.
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I heard a plaintive, “Meow-w-w.”

I knew it wasn’t an empty food bowl. That would include him jumping up on the table and giving me an insistent head bumping. He wasn’t in pain, that’s much louder and longer. His brother sat in the hallway, staring at the sewing cabinet. Another long “Meow-w-w-w-w-w,” told me what he needed. I opened the cabinet door, and he shot out, ran a few feet, shook as if freeing himself from chains, and started cleaning his paws.

Vinnie, my hairy little baby boy. He’s the one with the white collar. The other one is Sonny. They have a sister, Abigail, a Wheaten-ish puppy.