Symphony of Shrieking

A riddle: If a baby cries in a bedroom and Daddy is in the basement doing laundry...  does it really make a sound?  I'm pretty sure it doesn't until you get in the doorway where the baby can see your face and THEN it starts to really "make a sound" after five minutes of quiet whining.  They are starting to recognize when I am here and when I am gone, which also means that when I leave the room they take notice and let me know how they feel about it.  This coincides with Ellison's discovery of her ability to make high-pitched shrieking noises for "Come get me" minutes five through seven.  Minute one to two are arm flailing, pacifier removal. Minute three to four are lower pitched whining.  Then after shrieking it's full-fledged screaming-crying with a focus on flapping her arm on the side closest to her sleeping brother until minute ten at which point Henry wakes up and the cycle starts over. It becomes like one of those awful, campfire songs that you sing in a round, except Henry is that super sonic only dogs can hear it soprano that sits behind you every week that you go to mass, no matter where you choose to sit. 

And now that Ellison has started to reach arm flapping point, I'm going to go get her dressed and ready...  today is one of those interesting days when Mommy has an important meeting at work and Daddy scheduled a doctor's appointment. The good news is even though they don't like when I walk out of a room and leave them, they still prefer the company of any super, smiley stranger that makes squeaky sounds in their face to any toy or bottle or parent in the world...  for about five minutes anyway.  Then their eyes start to dart around until they finally find my face from across the room and smile in this relieved, contended way that makes me forget that I haven't slept right in five months, teething gel, 3am baby tylenol, and 500 loads of cloth diapers.