High Strung

Why is it that when our eldest lines his cars up perfectly or checks each individual wheel methodically, SuperHusband gets credit for the interest in cars, but I get credited (read:blamed) for his "type A" tendencies?

When Big Boy was born, we purchased the most amazing monitor. To this day, I recommend it to all my pregnant friends, because it brings incredible peace of mind. That monitor has a small pad -- about 10 inches square -- that goes under the mattress and senses when the baby breathes. If the baby stops breathing for a certain number of seconds, the monitor sends first a warning beep and eventually a full-blown alarm to the handset. It's a SIDS prevention thing.

But I digress.

When Bitty Boy came along, we had to move Big Boy downstairs, and we needed a second monitor so we could hear him call when he woke up from naps, not to mention the now rare cries. We decided on a video monitor this time, following the logic that -- unlike Big Boy -- the new baby was several months away from climbing out of bed to make book forts or ride the glider like a horsey. Armed with our enhanced surveillance capabilities, we nipped his little excursions in the bud. He (and briefly, we) began sleeping restfully again. Occasionally he has trouble napping, but I can't remember the last time he awoke during the overnight.

So imagine our surprise last night when we were disturbed not only by the alarm on Bitty Boy's monitor, which quickly jolted him into a regular breathing pattern again, but also a couple of hours later by an earsplitting scream from Big Boy's room followed by intense wailing. Having been the one to stumble in to reset our youngest's monitor and adjust his position at midnight, I graciously offered to let SuperHusband take Number One's emergency.

My Sweetheart's quick check of "Momma's camera" revealed nothing amiss, so what had a big boy so frightened? With ninja-like stealth, my black ops hero descended the stairs to respond to the rapidly unfolding crisis.

When he opened the door and peeked in, Big Boy whimpered, "Sock...off."

Heaven forbid we lose a sock at 2 a.m.