She was such a little thing, my granddaughter.  Just a few weeks old. 

Back then, we were still worried that she wasn’t eating well.  (We joked that this was evidence she was adopted, because we Lingos know how to eat!) Danielle had been going to the pediatrician every couple days for a weight check, and we were relieved that she was going in the right direction.  She had just sucked down two ounces of Enfamil.

But my daughter Stacey just couldn’t calm Danielle.  This eight pounds of  sugar-and-spice had turned the nursery into the Situation Room.  My daughter, swaying the baby side to side, as mothers instinctively do, ran down the list:  the baby’s belly was full, praise God; her diaper was dry;  she seemed neither too hot nor too cold.  But still she cried.

Stacey handed Danielle to me.   (Oh, how I loved it, that a child of mine finally thought maybe, just maybe, I knew something.)  I turned Danielle over, and with her belly down, held her in the crook of my arm like a football (as if I know anything about football), and added a gentle jostle to the ubiquitous mother’s sway.  And I sang the little song that is Danielle’s and mine, a politically correct version of “One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians” (little “bumblebees” now—with multiple verses for various animal species– and vibrato for the big finish).

I would like to tell you that the baby settled instantly nestled there in my fleshy, experienced arms.  But that was not the case.  Now Danielle screamed.

My daughter was exasperated.  What did I think was wrong, she asked.

I told Stacey that sometimes you just don’t know, that we can blame the crying on “colic,” the catch-all word for I-don’t-know-what’s-bugging-her.  And in a few months, Stacey could add “teething” as a possible cause for fussiness.  But, I assured my daughter, as time went on, she’d know what those different cries meant, that she’d be able to read her baby’s distress calls.

I am happy to report that the baby has not been screaming since then! Inexplicably, the crying ceased as quickly as it started.

Five months have passed, and my son-in-law and daughter are now experts in Danielle the Diva’s Distress Signals.  Six months ago, when Danielle was born, Nathan had never held a baby, and Stacey had only held a few,   Now they are so skilled and confident, you’d think Danielle was their tenth kid. 

Danielle is a happy, calm baby.  On “Gotcha Day,” the day of her formal adoption, the judge alluded to  the joy parents feel when they see their child “smile, laugh, and play without a care.”  That’s just how it should be for a little one: life “without a care.”

But she still cries, as babies do, and now I hand Danielle to her parents when I don’t know what’s wrong. 

Nathan will say, “Come here, Sweet Pie.”  And he’ll say to me, “She’s tired,” or “She’s hungry,” or “She’s bored.”  Or, “She’s teething.”  And he’s almost always right. 

And sometimes she just needs her daddy or her mommy.

What I am sure of, though, is that I have never heard Danielle cry in terror.  Maybe she’ll cry when she’s startled by a loud noise or when she wakes up and sees a face she doesn’t expect.  But because she has all these big people loving on her, people whom she has wrapped around her precious, chubby, dimpled little finger, she feels safe. 

Every child should feel safe. “Without a care.”

When Danielle gets older, she might be afraid of an inoculation.  Or a new school.  Or the SAT.  Or the inevitable decrepitude of her grandparents.  But that fear won’t escalate to terror, because she knows her parents are nearby, or only a phone call away.

Pediatrician Dr.Steve Alley has been treating soggy, pukey, hurting, frightened kids for more than two decades.  He is a proficient reader of babies’ cries.  His wife, author Brene Brown, says that when Dr. Allen hears babies cry in a plane or a restaurant, he says, “That baby is really hungry,” or “Someone is really tired,” or “That baby is mad as hell.”   

He says the cries of the children at the border, who have been separated from their families, are cries of terror and trauma.

Danielle is getting so big now.  Her daddy says, “You’re soooo big!  You’re two feet tall!”  It is all going so fast.  Pretty soon, she might be able to tell us why she’s crying.  Sometimes, though, she won’t be able to figure it out herself.  Her parents will help her put her distress into words.

The older children at the border have told us why they are terrified.  They can’t brush their teeth or change their clothes or bathe.  They don’t know where their parents are or if they will ever be reunited with them.  Sometimes the older children have to care of the babies who cry in terror. 

Danielle needs her mommy and daddy. 

All children need their mommies and daddies. 

OTHER BLOGPOSTS ABOUT FAMILY 
Making Love: The Truth About a 44-Year Marriage
My Husband Travels Without Me.  It’s All Good.
Role Reversal On a Trip With Adult Children
Bite Nite: A Fun Family Tradition
The Club:  Motherless Children
I Loved My Purple Grandma
Ten Things I Learned While Cleaning Out My Parents’ House