Party Crasher

Emma,

You were only about 6 months old when you and your brother attended your very first party. It was my cousin's engagement party. Babies really weren't supposed to come, according to the hostess on the phone when I called to RSVP, but all of your potential babysitters would be at the party, too. So they made an exception. We really wanted to help celebrate with our family. I didn't want to miss another event. It was time to re-join society.

Your daddy and I hadn't taken you very many places yet because we were so concerned with protecting you and because we were so tired all the time. You both looked so cute in your colorful, zip-up fleece vests with jeans. Your jeans had heart-shaped back pockets.  When we first got there, we put you down in the floor in your car seats where you'd be out of the way. I was so nervous that you would cry, Emma. You still had "fussy hours" at home around this time of night.

You were both so wide-eyed, taking in the people...and the noise. Bless your little baby hearts. You had never been to a party before. You had never been around so many people at one time in your life. The house was packed with people standing all around, talking, laughing, drinking, eating. The dull roar was a little much, even for me since I had been cooped up for many months of pregnancy and early motherhood. You started fussing a little, so we got you and Ethan out of the car seats and held you, carried you around, passed you off to a few familiar people.

Then you started really crying. So, I took you into the bedroom where a lady had been putting all of the coats and purses, including our diaper bag. I felt eyes on us as I closed the door. Maybe it was just me. Were people annoyed by the crying? Or were they uncomfortable with me being alone in the room with the door closed? I was a stranger to many of them, and their personal belongings were in the room. You were really screaming loud, Emma. I wasn't sure how to handle it here, out of the comfort of our home. I was anxious. I felt like people were thinking, "And that is why you don't bring babies to parties." But you couldn't help it, sweetie.

A woman came into the room. I was changing your diaper on a chest at the foot of the bed, trying to keep my composure. You were still crying and she was hovering right over you. I wasn't sure if this was her house, if she had come to help me, or to supervise me with the guests' belongings. One thing was for sure. She wasn't helping. She was leaning down in your face, talking baby-talk to you, trying to soothe you. But you screamed even louder. I picked you up and carried you into the bathroom nearby. I sang to you like I do when we're at home, and you were even less impressed than usual. You were screaming, Emma. Your face was bright red. It was one of those long, hard screams with long pauses of silence between when you ran out of screaming air. You were trembling. I put your cheek up to my cheek and we looked at ourselves in the mirror. You looked desperate. It's ok, honey. What could be wrong with you? Are you hurting? Are you scared? I was getting a little scared myself.

Then, I heard Ethan start to cry, too. I popped my head out to look, and your dad's face said it all:

"We're leaving."

And we did.

And so it will be, honey, any time you need it.