I Am Very Concerned About This Woman

I am four months old. I have very few concerns. Hunger, sleep, and wet diapers. She knows. I was there when she got the instruction manual. The nurse told her that when I cry, she should check my diaper, burp me, pat me on the back, or just put me to sleep. They even gave her a monthly subscription for the Dolly Parton book program for kids. She gets a book every month, but she couldn't read one of those to make me sleep. She just had to make those sounds. I am very concerned about this woman.

I have no training, producer credits, or a rags-to-riches origin story involving a garage and a dream. I just have a very angry baby with a set of lungs that can put a fire truck siren to shame. The way she commands me with her tiny four-month-old voice would make you think I am in training for the army and she is my commanding officer. I tried everything: bouncing her, walking around the house, and shushing her. She did not stop crying. I feel like I have lost some pounds from all the walking. I tried to give her a pacifier because lately she has decided my nipple is chewing gum, and she refused it because apparently I am insulting her intelligence. I even tried to impart my wisdom on how things weren't actually as bad as she thought, but she was not convinced. My frustration reaches its limits, and I just start making these sounds, extremely committed, with the certainty of someone who is a hundred percent sure about what they are doing. She suddenly stops crying and gives me a very puzzled look. The look of someone who is seriously assessing the situation they are in. At this point, I could literally feel her judging me.

I am very concerned about this woman.

She then laughs, and I can guarantee she is laughing at me. I am sure she is like, "Is she serious? This is the person responsible for my survival? Why is she making those sounds?" When I notice her staring, I start recording.

I honestly don't think she thought I was talented. I am sure she thought I had lost it, but funny enough, she was knocked out in a few minutes and she is here cooing in her sleep. I am sure she was like: "Let me check out before she makes an album."

I am happy she finally calmed down and went to sleep. She needed it. Despite my incoherent song, I think that's what being a mum is. The purposeful surrender of every last shred of dignity, repeatedly, for an audience of one who will absolutely not remember any of it but needed it more than she will ever know.

I am sure she is very concerned about me. But she is stuck with me and loves me anyway.