The Night I Didn't Hear the Baby Cry

The Night I Didn't Hear the Baby Cry

In our house, night duty comes with a clear division of labor.

We're a breastfeeding household, topping up with formula where needed. When the baby cries at night, diapers are my job. Making the formula: also me. My wife handles the nursing. Written out like that, I cover quite a lot, don't I? I am relied upon. I am proud.

That night, too, the baby cried. Or so I'm told.

I say "so I'm told" because I didn't hear a thing.

Right beside me, the baby cried, my wife got up, changed the diaper, made a bottle, fed the baby, and settled everyone back to sleep — and I slept through every second of it, noticing nothing. I was tired. That is a fact. But my wife was every bit as tired, and that is also an immovable fact.

The next morning, I got scolded quietly. Being scolded quietly works far, far better than being yelled at.

Excuses, Reflection, and Countermeasures

• A father's ears, it seems, start filing baby cries under "ambient noise" once enough fatigue builds up. Dear brain: I appreciate the power-saving mode, but please don't deploy it here.
• Countermeasure #1: On nights when I've declared up front, "I'm on duty tonight," the phone goes under my pillow on vibrate, hooked up to the baby monitor.
• Countermeasure #2: On days when I'm hopelessly exhausted, I say so honestly — in advance. Advance disclosure beats after-the-fact confession. This one, by the way, works for married life in general.

To my wife, who did everything that night: let me borrow this space to say, once again, I'm sorry. And please don't read this post, remember the whole thing, and get mad at me all over again.