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Short story: <i>The Baby Monitor</i>

photo of baby monitor

I wish the baby would quiet down, just for a minute. He fusses and he squirms and he just won’t still, just won’t relax, just won’t settle.

I’ve left him in his room with the monitor on because he has to learn to go to sleep on his own, I can’t just be there all the time. But now all I want to do is sit down here and read this magazine and all I can hear is his fussy noises and it’s disturbing my quiet.

I used to like my quiet. I don’t care that his father’s gone AWOL, well not really AWOL, he has my leave to be absent whenever he cares to be because frankly we all get along better when he’s not here anyway.

It used to be my custom to sit down on the couch around this time of day and have a glass of wine and watch the soaps, but I can’t watch the soaps anymore because of the noise of the baby hollering through the monitor. I just wish he’d quieten down.

He’s stopped that noise now. That’s much better. Now I can read in peace. The doctor says it’s important I get time to myself, that I make time, so that I’m not so pressured and stressed and constantly focused on the baby.

Why can’t I hear the baby? What if he’s gone and died in his cot while I’m reading this sinfully frivolous magazine? I have to go and check on him. Make sure he’s still breathing.

Then when he’s making noise again I’ll come back and try to read the magazine.

The only thing worse than the fussing is the silence.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: monitor, fusses, absent, squirms, and custom.

Image courtesy of LabGP & SigOther.

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