Calming a Crying Crisis

His eyes squeeze shut. His face reddens. Elliot's nostrils flare, and his little mouth opens wide. Then the noise begins. The cries are soft at first, then build to a crescendo. "How does so much noise come from one so small?" I wonder.

But, that's the least of my worries. What is wrong with my baby? And how can I get Elliot to stop crying?

Several hours earlier, Elliot had calmy endured -- even enjoyed -- his first bath in his "big boy" whale tub, followed by a wrap in his ducky towel. He didn't let out a cry. So why now, that I'm trying to enjoy my weekly guilty pleasure of "Desperate Housewives?" is Elliot suddenly inconsolable?

I've been sort of ignoring the ebb and flow of his cries for the last 45 minutes, confident that Tim had the situation well under control. But, after nearly an hour of rocking and swaddling, white noise and shushing, my husband has reached his limit. It's my turn, and my silly TV show will have to wait.

I try rubbing his back. Making loud shushing noises directly into his ear in an effect to simulate the womb sounds that babies find soothing, at least according to the popular book "The Happiest Baby on the Block." Elliot is definitely not a happy baby, despite my heavy breathing.

I stand up and rock back and forth, then front to back, inventing new holding and movement positions, each one just a little bit harder on my back. I put my baby boy over my knee, thinking that the pressure will relieve any tummy troubles. No such luck. I try flying him through the air, Superman-style, in an effort to startle him into silence. I hold him up and look into his eyes (when he opens them between cries) as if he will somehow be able to telepathically transmit what's wrong and what I can do to help him.

But, he can't. Instead, he just looks at me in a way that seems to be pleading, "Please do something." I hold him tight. I loosen my grip. I check his diaper and find no cause for such distress. The cries continue, longer and stronger than such small lungs should be able to produce.

I'll admit that the noise can get annoying, especially when I've had to put the adventures of Gabby, Susan and the Wisteria Lane crowd on hold. Some part of me can understand how people who don't want to be parents might snap when their child cries unceasingly. But despite the fact that I've always found babies' cries quite annoying, I surprisingly  feel more helpless than annoyed.

It really is different when it's your child. I want to help my tiny son, but don't know what to do. Finally, I remember something that my hairdresser once mentioned. Holding my crying Elliot like a sack of potatoes over my left shoulder, I race to my bathroom, open the drawer, pull out and plug in my hairdryer.

I sway to the sound of the appliance's zooming. Within seconds, the cries stop. Elliot's tense body relaxes, his eyes flutter open, then close.

Minutes later, little Elliot is peacefully asleep in his crib. The crying crisis is averted. For today.