Babies have different sorts of cries and mothers know what they all mean. Wild animals are able to pick the cry of their own young out from an entire herd. It’s one of those miraculous things that nature saddles you with when you give birth. Did I say saddles? I meant gifts, I truly did.

I can tell what the new, itty-bitty child needs because, really, it can only be so many things. She is hungry, tired, wet or uncomfortable. Advanced as she may be, she doesn’t yet dispute what is being served for dinner nor does she need help deciding what movie to see. She isn’t tearing the house apart for a particular item of clothing and isn’t in need of a ride anywhere. She needs things often and doesn’t speak, but the code isn’t hard to crack. All in all, she is pretty easy to keep track of.

Now the bigger children are a different story; they emit many sounds that aren’t immediately clear. There are times when I have to mute the television and, for some reason akin to turning down the car radio when lost, stay very still to figure out what they’re up to. It’s not always clear whether they are beating each other into oblivion or laughing uncontrollably.

There are a few screeches that could either mean someone is in need of an ambulance or they’re very entertained with what they’re watching on tv.

When did the lines blur between the, “I stubbed my toe,” ouch and the, “I need medical attention,” ouch? I’m really not sure. I knew the sounds they made when they were younger and could immediately discern whether they’d get over it in two minutes or have an ice pack for four hours.

Some of the screams they let loose with now make the hair on my arms stand on end. Nine times out of ten they are exaggerating for effect but it still makes me jump up to make sure no one is in flames. In fact, when I have been alarmed by an especially horrific scream only to find it was in vain, I’ve warned that someone had better be in dire straits the next time they make a sound like that. If you’re going to cry out like you’ve been impaled, there better be a valid injury for goodness sake! It’s only fair, should they call out and make my heart jump into my throat, that there be a trauma that matches the sound effect.

Other people’s children are a mystery to me, sound-wise. For instance, I was certain just yesterday that an animal of some sort was in distress. To the back balcony I went to survey the kingdom for the source of the blood chilling sound. In the next yard over there was a small person, about four years old. This small person was wearing rain boots, holding an umbrella roughly three times his size, and spinning in circles all while making a high pitched, shrieking noise. The kid had some pipes on him and could carry the shriek for a solid two minutes at a time. He did not appear injured or frightened despite the frantic, horrible sounds coming out of him. I’m certain that there were animals on red alert for miles around and if I had any good crystal, it would have certainly be shattering right where it stood.

I was wondering where the child’s mother could be as he continued the spinning and shrieking, shrieking and spinning. Surely a horrific noise like that would merit a wellness check at the very least. As I was thinking this the mother of this child came out of the cabin, retrieved something from the car trunk, and went back inside. The kid continued the spinning and shrieking that had me thinking about duct tape by this time. I could only guess that this was a regular noise for this particular child and surmised that the mother recognized the sound, evaluated it, and went to the car for her earplugs.