For Crying Out Loud

Can everyone please just STFU?!

What? Sorry? I can’t hear you, say it louder. [head shake.] WHAAAAAAAT? …

ugh. nevermind.

Of the six million reasons parenting is living in an alternate universe where no standards or rules apply, the sheer noise of life is deafening. Sure, we all have periods of our existence that’s louder than others. The high school and college years were like an 8 just because we could. I remember having zero issues standing next to a 10-foot speaker at a concert, unable to stop vibrating for a solid three days. Then you finally live by yourself and it drops to a 3. For having parents and roommates your whole life, the silence is almost eerie. Then you get serious about your existence, increasing the volume as you work on adulting, maybe adding a pet who’s good for a bark or two every once in a while.

Finally, a new human, and shit flies to 11 real quick.

It starts with the piercing shrieks of a newborn, somehow coded to strike the deepest nerve in your sleep-deprived brain. You pray for them to start talking so you can actually understand their needs. Once they start, you pray for them to stop. By default, you become the guide to all things in the world, holding the answer to all life’s questions. At first, it’s flattering, but soon you find yourself lying in the fewest words possible. “The sky is blue because that’s what they decided to paint it.”

And kids have the weird tendency of generating random sounds for no reason. Modern cavemen, they use tools like bubble wrap, metal spatulas and that springy-door-stop-thingy. Anything that causes discomfort and wincing head pain is great. They also go a cappella, banging out high-pitched screams and wet fart noises. Kind of like a far less talented Michael Winslow from Police Academy.

My wife and I have now reached the point of periodically hiding throughout the house to avoid the calamity. I found her in a dark closet recently, donning AirPods and her laptop on a shelf next to bed sheets. Her sheepish grin left me less confused and more jealous of her new hideout. For all the parents-to-be out there, I highly suggest setting up a villainous lair or soundproof bunker. No lie, I have been outside and across the street as my 5-year-old screams for more apple juice and the TV remote (which is literally right next to her on the couch). There is no escape, but kids are great!

Maybe the hardest part of living with such cacophonous creatures is the inability to conduct normal adult conversations. Something that we took for granted for so long is now a special privilege. If the topic can’t be wrapped up in a three sentences or less, just don’t bother. “Dad. Dad. Daddy. Dad. DADDY. DADDY!” The volume increases as your patience wanes. My wife and I have to exchange texts and emails to plan dinner, explain our endless fatigue, and update our will (note: include ear plugs and case of wine for the new guardians).

Ironically, the (very) rare moments we get to ourselves to, you know, actually act like grown-ups, we end up reverting to a state of infancy. We were out to dinner a few months ago and found ourselves at a complete loss of words. While the waiter awkwardly suspected a tense argument, we were in fact basking in the sound of silence. No tantrums, no hostage negotiation over uneaten vegetables, no banging silverware on the table’s edge. We live our life at an 11 almost constantly, and it feels unbelievably good to hit the mute button every now and again.

Hello, darkness, my old friend. Indeed.