Sometimes at 3a.m. I think I am hearing things. Most of the time, I am. It’s car-seat baby reminding me I must get her onto a bottle if I want to have a chance at passing grade two.
There are nights when I hear the gurgles and coos, I place my feet outside of the blankets, bend my knees so my toes touch the floor while my back is still flat against the mattress, thus, allowing my sleep to last two seconds longer.
I rarely open my eyes and as long as nobody has shifted the trunk at the foot of our bed, my only risk of injury is slicing my forehead on the corner of Greg’s dangerously sharp dresser.
Then I ask myself the age old question, if a baby cries but her mother turns off the monitor, does she make a sound?
For the past week, I have erroneously slunk into the baby’s room, after hearing her stir, reached in to pick her up, only to find her sleeping soundly. I try to shake my head in disbelief but that requires energy and I’m going to need all of my strength to make my way back to my room.
I hear her again. Knees, toes, floor, dresser, walk. She’s asleep. I’ve lost my mind.
Last night, I was in CSI mode. Have our wires crossed paths with another baby in the neighbourhood and I’m wandering aimlessly ready to nurse some random child?
I returned from the baby’s room and could hear the cries again, this time, coming from my bedroom. Was Greg playing a cruel, CRUEL joke on his sleep-deprived wife?
I looked to the window that was cranked wide open, monitor placed in front of the screen.
Apparently, there was a cat in heat, moaning in our backyard that I was waking up to feed.
Here is a re-cap of what I heard:
Yes, I am officially hearing things.