The first item we discovered was magic was an Infantino Sling Rider, basically just a bag with a strong padded strap, capable of carrying up to 20 pounds of baby weight. When placed in the sling, Sydney would be all scrunched up and terribly uncomfortable-looking, and would, 30 seconds later, fall fast asleep. Wearing the baby around our neck all day quickly became the norm, especially earlier in her career when "awake" generally meant "crying" and "asleep" generally "didn't happen." We began to call the sling the Magic Bag. We even gave it its own song, as we are wont to do, the lyrics of which went like this (to the tune of Magic Bus):
Sydney's in the Magic Bag!
Cuz she is a baby.
Sydney's in the Magic Bag!
And I don't mean maybe.
Magic Bag! Magic Bag!
Sydney's in the Magic Bag!
And I don't mean maybe.
Magic Bag! Magic Bag!
The need for the Magic Bag has tapered off in recent months, although it is still resorted to in a pinch. Mostly things don't get that tragic anymore, and Sydney has learned to entertain herself to a certain degree. Also she is getting a lot more mobile and the memory of the womb is fading, so being squished up in a bag she can't see out of is less comforting than it used to be.
However, yesterday we went to the hospital (an ongoing saga of checkups and appointments for a borderline case of hip displasia, which was detected when she was first born by an emergency room nurse but never since) for an ultrasound and a doctor's appointment, and, because we are weaning Sydney from Mom, meant to bring the all important food and bottle combination. It was all put together properly and stored neatly away in the breastmilk cooler bag and put on the floor with all the other accoutrements we needed to bring, and it was still sitting on the floor when we got to the hospital.
We were going to be at the hospital pretty much all day, and we had no food for the baby. What kind of parents were we? We begged a few bottles of formula off of one of the nurses and bought a sippy cup (the closest thing they had to a bottle) in the gift shop, and made do with these items and some snacks from Mom's rapidly unproductive breasts. Still she didn't eat much. So much stuff was going on at the hospital that she was pretty cool with it, until we finally bundled her back into the car to go home. Then she let loose.
On the ride up earlier that day, before we knew of the food shortage, there had been a slight disturbance in the backseat, in response to which I turned on the car's CD player which had in it: Baby Beluga by none other than Raffi. My husband was less than enthused about this musical choice and teased that I just wanted to hear the CD again. I assuredly did not; this CD has been played way too many times in my presence. It was the only CD I had, though, and our reception in these parts is spotty. Rather than hunt the dial for music worthy of a six month old, I turn on the CD. The disturbance in the back quieted down and we eventually turned off the CD and thought no more of it.
There's not much you can do for a desperately unhappy infant screaming her head off while traveling down the interstate at a higher rate of speed than the posted speed limit, even if there are two of you in the car, so out of desperation I turned on the radio and cycled through the dial trying to find music and not commercials, gave up after a few seconds and turned on the CD again as an interim.
And the sudden silence from the backseat was golden.
After a few songs and a long period of contentment in the back we thought we could, perhaps, turn off Raffi and turn on NPR, but as soon as the CD went off a horrifying wail began again, and continued until I managed to get the CD turned on again. Sydney quieted down only to have the CD switch back over to Track 1, which takes longer than usual, and in the intervening silence she began to whimper again. Track 1 started. Silence again.
"Is there some subliminal message, do you think? Do drugs! Do drugs?" I asked.
"Or maybe, shut up kid or the monster will get you!" Raffi's charm was still lost on my husband. But we both agreed that we had hit upon the Magic CD, and that this CD should be carefully stored and cared for in order that we might, in a pinch, be able to make the world right again, at least for a while.
This morning we were both wide awake at 2am. Finally from the darkness my husband whispered, "I have Raffi in my head."
"Me, too," I said, "Which one?"
"Over in the meadow on a rock by the shore..."
And we both fell back to sleep.
