Mom on Baby Monitors

A few days ago both Wees 3 and 4 were napping. For a moment I was stunned by this co-incidence of sleep patterns and forced myself to go outside and look for some sort of odd planetary alignment. Once I confirmed that aliens weren't coming to invade northern Georgia or an asteroid wasn't headed our way I paused to think on how I would spend these precious moments of silent solitude. I decided to work on a few thank you cards in my craft room downstairs. To keep track of the Wees I brought our baby monitor with me.

About 20 minutes into my creative bliss I heard some static come through the monitor and then a blood curdling child's scream. It did not sound like one of my Wees, but a scream like that could not be ignored. I jumped to my feet only to be stopped cold in my tracks by the sound of a man's voice coming through the monitor as well.

My husband was at work.

My heart began to race and my adrenaline surged through my body - there was an uninvited man in my home somehow hurting one of my Wees and making them cry.

Like a mama grizzly I immediately went on the defensive. I had to protect my Wees. I needed a weapon of some sort and I needed it fast. The closest thing I could find was one pink leg from a "Nina, Nina Dancing Ballerina" ballet bar and my daughter's giant Fisher Price Counting Piggy Bank. They would have to do.

With the bar in one hand and the pig in the other I began to climb the stairs. Calling on all of my military training I slid around angles, peeked around corners clearing rooms in my home one by one until I got to the kids' room. I paused outside their closed door. I couldn't hear anything - what if he had taken them out the window? What if they were gone? I had never been so scared in all my life. I burst through the door and shouted "leave my kids alone." Now I know cursing is not the thing a lady should normally do, but I am fairly sure I strung a few doosies on the end of this statement - though in all honesty I can't remember what they were.

But to my amazement there was no man in their room and Maddie had clearly been sleeping soundly. My S.W.A.T. like entrance had her dazedly sitting up and rubbing her eyes. I sank to my knees in relief and I am not ashamed to say a few tears rolled down my face. My Wees were okay.

Now that I was calm I realized how ridiculous I looked. Was I planning on pirouetting an attacker into submission with my ballet bar? At best I would have gotten one shot with the piggy bank at the assailants head. Afterward, my assault would have been accompanied by "the counting song" as the pig's 30 second music program cycled through.

As the piggy bank and I sang Wee 3 her favorite song to get her back to sleep - I tried to figure out what had happened. Then it occurred to me - our neighbor (a work from home dad) had the exact same baby monitor which must have been operating on the same frequency. His daughter was the possessor of one opera singer like scream. Case of the mysterious baby monitor transmission solved.

Snuggled between my Wees and exhausted at my attempt to act out my own Die Hard movie, I resolved to nap with them right where I was - quiet, alone time is severely overrated. I also made the mental note to speak to the neighbor about using separate frequencies - goodness only knows what he thought about the impromptu rendition of the musical "Greece" I sang in the shower yesterday.

A wee bit relieved,

CarrieAnne