A loud wail starts up over the tinny static of the baby monitor. I tromp upstairs as fast as I can, but the wailing is continuous. Unlike usual, she doesn't even stop to wait and see if I'm coming, or when she hears my footsteps on the stairs. I climb over my sleeping husband and snuggle in next to my baby, releasing a boob. All the while, she shrieks. She latches on, and there is silence.
Me: You know, a quieter cry would have produced the same result, A.B.
A.B.: Pfffflllrn.
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