There’s been a lot of talk in our home lately about babies and all the paraphernalia that Mums-to-be buy or are given in anticipation of a bundle of joy joining the family (our oldest daughter is expecting her first child in April). One item that has caused debate is the need (or not) for a baby monitor.
Way back in 2001 when I had my son, I considered it an essential bit of kit. How could I not be able to listen to him 24/7? The thought of him stuck all the way down the back of the house was anathema to me. It was definitely more of a security blanket for me than a necessity given his room was actually only three from ours but what the hey, it meant I slept soundly when I could and gave me peace of mind.
And so it came to pass that I managed to catch two amorous teens bonking themselves stupid in my back garden.
One night, as we’d gone to bed we’d heard a party up the road. The duff-duff music was horrendous but being an overtired new Mum, it could have been an armed robbery and I wouldn’t have much cared. The party lasted until about 1am and then I could hear people walking down the road, car doors slamming, drunken “good nights,” and eventual silence.
Just as I was drifting back to sleep, the baby monitor bleeped. “Oh my God, the baby’s awake!” I listened, and rather than an infant cry I heard a deep male voice whisper, “It’s OK, just stay still.” I made it to Angus’ room within a nanosecond, fully expecting to find some horrible creature stealing my baby. Nothing. Angus was dead to the world and everything else was in order.
Then the silhouette of two bodies appeared (with their backs to the window) grinding up and down in the moonlight. Now, I’m no prude and I’m sure the poor buggers had nowhere else to experiment with the delights of coitus, but I was determined to add “interruptus” to the scenario, such was my desire for Angus to “sleep through”. For any Mum-to-be reading, this will become your single most important objective given you’ll probably only experience 50 hours sleep over a three month period.
I snuck as close to the window as I dared and boomed, “Oi, you two, bugger off!” I genuinely hope that the poor fella’s penis remained intact such was the speed and ferocity with which they tried to disentangle themselves as they fled into the night.
Gently tucking my son in, kissing his forehead I returned to my bed and laughed myself back off into the Land of Nod.
Oh, and of course, my husband slept through the entire thing.
I could also tell you the story of a girlfriend who was having a lunch and offered to show her friend’s husband the new baby. 20 seconds later, broadcast over the baby monitor into the dining room, came the sounds of furtive snogging and whispered conversations about how much they loved each other and their promise to leave their partners within the month ~ but I wouldn’t do that because it would be blabbing. Sprung indeed.
When were you last sprung? How, what for and what was your excuse?
Until next time…