The Emotion With No Name

I had only been asleep an hour or so when I was woken by a blood curdling scream from downstairs.

I looked at the clock – 11.30pm. Assuming I could be stuck downstairs with Baldy for the rest of the night, I grabbed my glasses and dressing gown.

I wrapped my gown around me as I stumbled down the stairs, mentally preparing for what I might find.

“Mummmmmy, Daddddddy,” came the howls.

There might be vomit, I thought, listening for the gagging noises. There might be fevers, wondering how high I had left the heater.

I opened the door a crack, inhaling deeply, trying to detect a smell. Poo? Vomit? No.

The light fell across Baldy’s little face, her hair messy and wild.

“Dummy. Gone!” she wailed.

You’re kidding, I thought.

Those screams were worthy of being axe murdered, a Huntsman dropping on your face or your bed catching on fire. They were real screams of terror and fear. But a missing dummy? You have got to be kidding me.

I gingerly patted down the sheets, still expecting to find a pool of vomit. Nothing.

I ran my hand around the edge of the mattress, between the side of the cot looking for the rogue dummy.

“Dummy. Gone!” she wailed.

We need to get rid of the damn dummy, I thought.

She shifted impatiently and I heard the tell-tale sound of the plastic chain. I picked it up and clipped it back onto her sleeping bag.

She immediately stuck it back in her mouth, lay back down, head on her pillow, and went to sleep.

I looked at the clock. 11.35pm. I knew it would easily be 1am before I would fall asleep again, so I certainly wasn’t going to hang around. I was glad she wasn’t sick, but I was bloody irritated at having been woken for a missing dummy.

That feeling, the one only parents understand, that is an equal mix of relief and annoyance, was strong as I trudged back upstairs.

They really need to give that particular emotion a name.

Any suggestions?