Raise the Roof

Today's piece partly pertains to paraphrased, painful prose pronounced from the preacher's pulpit (sorry, couldn't--wouldn't--help myself):

"God hears His Children's prayers, just like all parents can hear their children. As a preacher, I've heard many babies cry during services. I've never really found it distracting. The only time I've ever been distracted by babies crying is when my own two children were babies. I could hear them cry wherever they were in the building, because they were my children. Actually ... the only other baby who has ever been able to distract me like that is Rain. When she cries, she can hit a pitch--well, she must have inherited that from Tim."

(*Congregation laughs*)

Yep, my baby (and me, too!) was called out in church. Yes, the preacher was joking, but only in part, ya know? Who can blame him, though? My baby, as I've tried to explain before, can raise the roof when she's mad. She has serious throat power, and if you don't believe me, you might ask the local police department (*ahem*):

When Rain was only a month old, I had to go to a doctor's appointment. Thankfully, my sister was in town and offered to watch Rain while I went to my appointment. I promised I'd be back within the hour. I changed Rain's diaper, and with that, I was gone. When I returned, there Rain was in my sister's arms, quietly sleeping. I thought everything had gone well, until my sister said, "Yeah, so the cops came."

"What?" I said, and followed with all the other w's. "Who?? Why? When?" Turns out, after I left, Rain began to cry. My sister assumed she was tired and tried to rock her to sleep. Rain continued to cry, so my sister tried everything she could think of to comfort her. Rain's cry escalated, but still, my sister couldn't figure out what was wrong. Eventually, Rain raised the roof with her screaming. My sister finally realized that, alas, her diaper was dirty (though I had just changed it), and now she was peeved that service had been delayed.

Someone banged on the front door. My sister chose to ignore it until Rain had a new diaper on (good call). When she did answer the door, it was the police. Someone had heard Rain's screams and called the police. Ay! They said that the caller noticed that neither Tim's car or mine was in the parking lot (I had no idea our apartment neighbors kept an eye on that sort of thing), and wanted to find out if the baby was home alone--egad! What must they think of us?

Anyway, my sister had to explain that (a) the baby was fine, (b) Tim & I were not dead, and (c) that in spite of the hair-raising screams, Rain only had a dirty diaper (though she can make it sound as though you've beaten her with a pipe). The officers took a look around the apartment ("No dead bodies in the kitchen? Check."), and left after a few minutes.

As for me? I had to grab one of my parenting books and review the chapter on, "Just because your baby cries, that doesn't mean you're a bad parent." I remind myself of that daily. Now you know why I got giddy over Rain's first laugh.

Must go now. The baby monitor lights are, of course, flashing.