The Off Button

Our daughter decided to treat us to a two hour conversation concert last night. From 12:30 to 2:30, she screeched and gurgled and squealed and babbled to her heart's content. For parents spoiled by the last few months of relatively through-the-night sleep patterns, the performance wasn't amusing. Her no-sleep conditioned and still emotionally-gooey mom and dad of a three-month-old would have rolled over to face each other, smiling at the sweetness of it - "Listen to our little girl chatter away! She's so happy - not a tear in sight!" Her parents at six months? A less than receptive audience.

I rolled over and smacked the monitor off. An immediate break in the volume. She was still going strong across the hallway but at least we didn't have a front row seat to the action.

"If only 'off' really meant 'off'," muttered my husband, echoing the exact thought in my head. It was one I have wished for often in the months of her rapid development. Though I have gradually become more fluent in "baby," learning to distinguish what certain faces and movements and sounds mean, it's hard to face the days when I don't know what she wants. As she cries (the presence of real tears can break your heart), grows red with frustration (this girl has lungs!) or fusses with need, she can reduce her mom to tears of her own. I hate not knowing how to fix things. I hate the feeling that we can't communicate. I hate feeling helpless when all I want to do is soothe. I hate that deep down in the pit feeling, however irrational, that I am to blame.

And sometimes (is this awful to admit?) I want to throw the monitor out the window. If only off meant off.

This morning at 5 am I quietly crept to peek in the crib only to meet two very awake and happy eyes. "Remember me from 2am?" I asked, prompting a grin. She patted my face and pulled at my pajamas as I swept her down the stairs for breakfast. Her shortened sleep was a non-deterrent to an enthusiastic greeting of the day. Maybe because she knew she had a slew of naps ahead?

Hearing her chatter away on the couch with her dad as I started the much-needed coffee, I had to smile. The soundtrack of our home may a bit more chaotic, unscheduled and unpredictable than it was BC (before child) but, I have to admit, I don't really want an off button.

Though I'm bound to change my mind at 2am.