Screaming in the Night

Three nights ago, I woke up to Noah fussing. I waited for him to get it out of his system, flip to his other side, and let the sleepies steal him back to a land where I assume he dreams of bananas monkeys. No theft to dreamland occurred. He kept right on crying. With a sigh I threw my legs out of bed, padded into his room, and let my eyes adjust to the dark. I gave him a pacifier and pulled his head out of the corner of the crib. He was still a mite bit unhappy, but I had to go to the bathroom.

From behind the closed bathroom door I heard it. It was the kind of screaming we usually associate with some combination of zombies and apocalypse. It was the kind of screaming that means needles, and death, and turnips are only moments away, their sharp pincers snapping. And it would.not.stop.

I scooped up my Little Man. Screaming. I stroked his head and bounced. Screaming. I sang, pleaded, prayed, tried the paci, tried his monkey friend, tried changing his diaper. Screaming. At this point Justin came in and asked, "What on Earth is wrong?" The side of me so consciously aware of the fact that it was after midnight spat, "Well, if I knew I wouldn't be holding a shrieking little banshee at 2:00am." The side of me that actually speaks and loves him so completely cried, "I don't know!"

Allow me to share the ridiculousness of my own mind in the seconds that followed:
   He's never screamed like this before, ever. Something is really wrong.
   He's ok. Babies cry.
   Not like this. Hormonal pregnant women being tortured with cruel implements don't cry like this.
   What if I have to take him to the ER?
   What if they find something wrong?
   What if they don't, and think I'm a bad mother?
   What if they take one look at my over-sized Bradley Hathaway t-shirt and Yellowstone      Huckleberry shorts and won't even let us in the hospital?

About this point, Justin had put Little Man in his car seat and was swinging him back and forth. In a few minutes he was calm enough to stop crying. A couple minutes after that he went back to sleep. He survived until morning, and lived a semi-happy day. . . And no one had to see my Huckleberry shorts.

And Justin once again proved that I married up.

FYI: it's teeth. He's cutting teeth on the top and just wants to be sure everyone in the valley knows how miserably unfair it is.