A baby crying

This woman comes up to me while I'm stocking the shelves and she asks me if there's a baby crying somewhere in the store or if it's just her. It's not just her, I say, there's a baby crying in the store. She says, she thought so. She says, she just wants more than anything to pick the baby up, to calm it down.

Ever seen a baby intubated? I have. Ever seen a baby come out of their mother's body, and someone raises their arm only to have that little blue hand drop as if it had weights attached to it? Those babies came out quietly, no crying, no screaming. But a not screaming, not crying baby, that's not a calm baby, that's not quiet baby, that's a dead baby. And, in a few minutes if nothing changes, if no noise comes out of that baby, it'll be permanent.

My head perks up, my eyes turn to the left, my upper back and neck go rigid as soon as I hear a bump or a crash in the store. When the wailing starts, that's when my body relaxes. The screaming is what allows my eyes to refocus on the task at hand.