I live in an apartment building in a lovely close-knit community. Well, the first part of this sentence is true. And the fact that we live close. Because it's an apartment building. We have no choice. The closeness doesn't necessarily bother me, but for the past 3 days it has.
My bedroom is right next to our front door and across the hall there lives a sweet young family. They've moved in recently. Or should I say, a couple's moved in recently and then those two multiplied like crazy over night and now they have baby number one, number two and number three. Good for them for all of the sex they had had, but nobody asked me, what I think about it. Yes, I feel I should be a part of their baby making decision because the walls are paper-thin and although there are two doors separating our worlds - it still sounds as if we're living together. I don't mind when people hump their brains out and do it regularly but I'd prefer if they'd use something to prevent that one little overachieving sperm to reach the waiting egg. I'm a strong believer in birth control and will remain one since life is such an amazing advocate of childless existence. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees.
If I seem cranky, I have a reason: For the last 3 days I've been woken up at 6:30 a.m., which is inhumane for me - I work at home and I definitely don't need to get up with the chickens and much less before them. Why was I woken? Because baby number one didn't want to give his toy to baby number two and therefore baby number two screamed her little heart, lungs, spleen and other internal organs out. Not wept. Not cried. SCREAMED. One of the babies screamed in the middle of the hall 3 days in a row. And their mother forgot something back in the apartment 3 days in a row. And left them screaming in the hall to get it 3 days in a row. The first time she forgot her cell phone, the second time she lost her keys and the third time I lost my patience, which I'd been losing for the previous two days. I got up, almost stepped on my fart-machine, and looked through the peephole. I saw two babies sitting side by side in a double stroller and baby number two was mercilessly hitting baby number one over his head with a Barbie doll. Their mother was going through her pockets and billion pockets on the stroller like a maniac looking for God knows what. And all three of them were screaming. At each other, at the universe, at themselves. I stood there and thought: "These three don't need me intervening ..." and went back to bed.
It's funny, how people describe children as rambunctious, free-spirited and vivacious. That's just being politically correct when you actually want to say feral, undisciplined and completely bonkers.