The only reason for the damned things I can think of
A baby cries. I walk up the stairs and pause on the landing. Which of the three bedrooms did the cry come from?
Who knows? The baby, probably as a result of hearing my footsteps on the stairs, has stopped crying. I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I guess he/she has gone back to sleep. I go downstairs. I sit with my tea and my laptop. Two minutes into my next round of Scramble pithy, well-crafted words of wisdom, a baby cries. I walk up the stairs and pause on the landing…
We have now done this dance three times.
Once in a very long while, I can see an actual use for baby monitors.
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We only ever used the baby monitor for the times we’d be out working in the yard during nap time. Other than that? Never. I had friends who were totally flabbergasted that I refused to use it at night. I mean, really. I didn’t want to hear every single toss and turn. If they cried, I’d hear it. These same friends (actually, no longer friends) could not BELIEVE that I slept with the bedroom doors closed. They couldn’t understand that I didn’t want to hear fussing. I could hear crying perfectly well through the doors. Fussing? They could work that out on their own, thank you very much.
I’m newly inspired to use our monitor. A few days ago I went downstairs to do laundry after putting the kids to bed. There was a lot to do. The dishwasher was running upstairs. Only after finishing these chores did I come upstairs and find my daughter sobbing in her crib with a poopy diaper. Poor baby. I’ll be using the monitor in the basement now.
But what I really want to say is, Mary, where are you? Missing your posts!!!