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.
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!!!