When the Sky Cries
It was midnight and my son started screaming like a banshee.
I mean, all of his 16 pounds-almost-five-month-old-body was tense, as he was screaming at the top of his lungs. Wanting my attention.
I read today that I should expect screaming from my 4-month old baby and that I should not worry – it is normal. That actually, screaming is harder for parents than it is for the babies. Theirs is just an outcry, no matter how desperate and agonizing-sounding it is. Their hearts are not broken. They are just manifesting the need to be held.
Wanting attention. Mine.
Because we were apart for almost 14 hours yesterday, courtesy of a Christmas party that I thought I needed to attend because I wanted to network and socialize.
My reaction to that cry was pain in my gut and unbearable guilt.
Because in the past, when he was just forming the first of his memories, he only needed to reach out his hand to me, or whimper, and I was there.