“I don’t know what he wants,” Mason protested quickly.
“Neither do I yet,” I answered.
“You usually know,” he argued.
“I usually find out,” I corrected.
He hesitated for a long moment before stepping into the living room and lifting Noah from the crib. The crying immediately grew louder and sharper.
“See?” Mason called out in frustration. “I’m making it worse.”
“You’ve held him for ten seconds,” I noted, walking in slowly.
“What do I do?” he asked desperately.
A dozen quick answers lined up in my head, but I forced myself to hold them back. Instead, I simply said, “Start paying attention.”
He began pacing across the carpet far too quickly. Noah cried even harder against his chest. Mason caught himself, slowed his steps down to a gentle rhythmic sway, and within a minute, the infant’s crying softened into quiet sniffling.
“He’s stopping,” Mason said, sounding genuinely shocked.
