HOW TO STOP A BABY CRYING. HOW TO STOP
How to stop a baby crying. Black girl baby
How To Stop A Baby Crying
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- A how-to or a how to is an informal, often short, description of how to accomplish some specific task. A how-to is usually meant to help non-experts, may leave out details that are only important to experts, and may also be greatly simplified from an overall discussion of the topic.
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- the process of shedding tears (usually accompanied by sobs or other inarticulate sounds); "I hate to hear the crying of a child"; "she was in tears"
- clamant: demanding attention; "clamant needs"; "a crying need"; "regarded literary questions as exigent and momentous"- H.L.Mencken; "insistent hunger"; "an instant need"
- crying(a): conspicuously and outrageously bad or reprehensible; "a crying shame"; "an egregious lie"; "flagrant violation of human rights"; "a glaring error"; "gross ineptitude"; "gross injustice"; "rank treachery"
- A very young child, esp. one newly or recently born
- a very young child (birth to 1 year) who has not yet begun to walk or talk; "the baby began to cry again"; "she held the baby in her arms"; "it sounds simple, but when you have your own baby it is all so different"
- A young or newly born animal
- pamper: treat with excessive indulgence; "grandparents often pamper the children"; "Let's not mollycoddle our students!"
- The youngest member of a family or group
- the youngest member of a group (not necessarily young); "the baby of the family"; "the baby of the Supreme Court"
How To Stop Baby Crying
If your baby cries a lot, don't despair. Crying is the primary way a baby has to communicate its needs. Therefore, your baby may spend a lot of time talking to you in the only...
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The Legend of Cry-Baby Bridge
Bridges are built to provide us with a means to reach from where we are to where we are not. They are designed to safely convey us in or travels and our quests, yet how often have bridges been our undoing? I would speak to you of Cry-Baby Bridge. It is a small iron suspension bridge, not particularly noteworthy in its design, nor in its construction, nor or its location. It spans a relatively small river, hardly larger than a stream and barely deep enough to make a good swimming spot for the local farm children. It did not provide passage for Kings or Queens, not did it serve large commercial enterprise. It was just a simple bridge for the locals to get from where they were, to where they needed to be without having to ford the river. Rather, this bridge owes its rather infamous legend to unwilling abetting in the demise of an entire family.
The young mother traveled by foot with her small daughter. The daughter was at that age where she was too big to be carried for an entire journey, but too small to walk all the way herself. Normally she and her husband would take turns carrying their daughter or holding hands with her while she walked.
Today the husband had some important chores to finish but had promised to catch up with them at the bridge. Coming upon the bridge, she turned to see if he would indeed keep his promise. She strained her eyes to see him moving down the road. She cocked her ears to listen for his footsteps. Neither effort rewarded her.
While concentrating on this, she let her daughter’s hand slip from her grasp and was not aware that her daughter had wandered of until she heard the splash. She spun around looking for the toddler but her daughter wasn’t to be seen. Looking to the bridge she saw the toy her daughter had been toting laying near the edge of the bridge.
Quickly she ran to the bridge and thrust her upper body through the iron work angles while calling for her daughter. Beneath the water’s surface she saw her daughter wedged against a rock. As any good mother would do, she threw herself the rest of the way over the rail to plunge into the water herself, but her dress became tangled in rail and she was swung violently against the under-span and knocked unconscious. The fabric of the dress proved no match for the deadweight of her now limp body, eventually tearing and dropping her into the cold water.
The husband having taken longer than he planned had ran most of the way from their farm. It was getting late now. The sun was low and the shadows getting long. He’d be lucky to clear the woods before it got dark now and he doubted that his wife had waited for him at the bridge and was likely now at her parent’s house and very unhappy at having had to travel the whole way alone with their daughter. When he came in sight of the bridge he stopped; it was time to steel himself one more time to cross that bridge.
Flashbacks to when he was younger and almost drowned in that river haunted him. That was before the bridge was built. But even the bridge couldn’t erase those fearful memories.
Reaching the middle he paused to let his pounding heart settle and to force himself to breath normally. It was then he noticed Lydia’s doll lying near the edge. Then a tatter of blue cloth flapping just above it caught his attention. Wasn’t his wife wearing her blue dress today? Wasn’t it that same color blue? Panic welled up in him. He tried to walk toward the edge where the two items waited. He managed one faltering step, gasped a ragged breath and then forced another. The pounding in his ears grew louder, his mouth grew dry and his throat felt like he was trying to swallow a bale of cotton. As he drew closer to the edge his phobia crashed over him like waves.
Each wave threatened to drag him under more violently than the last. He grasped the rail in desperation, fingers clamping on like fleshy vices. Straining against his fear he pushed his head through the opening and peered into the water. As his vision cleared he was condemned to see his daughter’s and his wife’s lifeless eyes staring up through the reflection of his own face.
His face, bracketed by the full moon that had risen behind him, was twisted by fear and despair. He screamed… he wanted to jump and pull them out… but he could not.
The bodies of the mother and child were found and recovered. The husband was never seen again. But at certain times, on days when the sun’s setting makes the shadows grow long followed by the moon rising full over the woods, people say they can hear a baby crying.
How am I supposed to get out of this one?
Will she, wont she?
that is the question
the title is some lyrics from bleed the dream's song cofessions.
ok, crappy descriptions aside. This is just another part of the whole issey and ella story, and of course the baby bump.
Well i've actually wrote something for them. It's meant to be how their valentines day went.
Ella dumped the dishes into the sink and slammed the palms of her hands down onto the kitchen counter. It hadn’t been the most romantic valentines dinner, far from actually. They had spent most the night in an uncomfortable silence, but Ella knew why. Ever since she had found out she was pregnant she hadn’t let Issey near her, she was far too scared he’d notice the small bump which seemed to be ever expanding each day. She’d done all she could to hide it, she wore baggy clothes and she never let him put his hands near the bump. But what if he had noticed, that could be why he was so distant.
She spun round and slouched against the counter before wrapping her arms around her bump, she would never wish it away, she already loved this baby. But she couldn’t tell Issey; he was due to go away on a modelling shoot soon, this was not the time. She also couldn’t ignore the voice in her head, telling her he would leave her. There was also the chance that she was driving him away anyway, what kind of a man wanted a girlfriend who wouldn’t let him near her. She tried to will away the tears that began to form in the corners of her eyes; if Issey came in he’d notice she was crying. But it was too late to worry about that; a single tear escaped her eye at the same moment that Issey walked in. She spun back round to the sink, pretending to be washing up – but he’d already noticed.
He wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her shoulder, but Ella immediately tensed – his hands were way too close to her stomach. Issey instantly felt her tense and stepped away, he knew he must have done something wrong; Ella was so distant from him now.
“Ella?” He asked in a small voice as he waited for her to turn round, “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and forced a smile, “nothing, really. I’m just tired, I think I’m going to go to bed.” She tried to walk round him but his hands were on her arms, stopping her from doing so.
“People that cry generally have something wrong with them, more so than being tired.”
Ella bit her lip; she knew he’d have seen. But her worries were elsewhere when she felt Issey hands on her waist. “No!” She automatically screeched, her hands flew to her sides, knocking Issey’s out the way.
Issey’s brow furrowed, he was more confused than angry. “I give up Ella!” he cried exasperated, “you don’t let me near you and you don’t even talk to me anymore. What have I done?” He hated this, Ella meant the world to him yet it seemed she couldn’t stand him being around.
“It’s not you Issey, really.” She insisted, but he didn’t believe her. He shook his head before taking a step back from her.
“I’m gonna go take a walk or something,” he muttered, but as he went to leave the room Ella spoke up.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
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