I am sitting in the quiet of our downstairs, knowing the babies are sound asleep and then I hear it. At least I think I hear it.

I’m in the shower, knowing Andrea has the babies quiet and calm. And yet, as the water cascades over my head, drowning out all noise, I swear I hear it.

I am in the garage, putting away the lawn mower and knowing I have at least an hour before the babies have to feed again. And there’s that sound again. I know it’s there.

Can’t you hear that Can’t you!

I swear I hear the unmistakable sound of babies crying.

The short staccato “eh-eh’s” and the longer drawn out “uuuuuuuuuaaaaaaah” crescendo-ing into an all out cry to humanity “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!.” The sound that can bring rain or, at least, parents running from a 1/2 mile radius.

The crying, it’s there alright. And each time I hear it, I rush upstairs or turn off the shower or run in from the garage and find…

Silence.

Nothing.

A quiet so real, even the crickets have called it a night.

Damn. It happens all… the… time. I imagine babies crying. It’s not enough I hear real crying all the time, now I have to imagine I hear it too. I feel like that cute kid actor in the Bruce Willis movie – the one who saw dead people. Only I hear phantom babies crying.

And boy there can be some crying in this household. I can’t get away from it. First one baby cries, then the other, then both together hitting decibels only heard at your local airport. And now, if I’m not in the room with the babies I hear them cry only to find out… I’m going crazy.

Like right now! I SWEAR I hear crying. It sounds soooo real.

What’s that

Oh, damn, that really is crying.

Gotta go.