I am wired very much like my mom, so I can almost predict how she will respond to the thought of a baby registry.
She tells me that there is a certain manufacturer. They make those mechanized swings--sometimes called "Neglecto-matics."
Anyway, this manufacturer has, or had, a defective product. The swing would tip over and spill the baby onto the floor. Then the swing would crush the baby. Imagine! Dead infants!
This story has planted its own seed of worry in me, such that I don't hear the name of the manufacturer. And then there's a coda. The deaths happen only when you use the swing past the "maximum age" threshold. In other words, if you're putting your toddler in an *infant* swing, then, yes, maybe you ought to anticipate death.
It's soothing for me to hear this kind of horror story, because it's precisely the way my own mind works. It's nice to know there's someone out there who understands how your own gears fit together. That same day, I stay up past midnight imagining that all of my fire detectors are out of order. I see a forest of flames; I see my family engulfed. Then I think about a murderer. A guy in the eighties seemed interested in a lady's dog; he bought the dog, then went back to the lady's house and slaughtered her. He also slaughtered her children.
I think of this man, and picture him picking away at my flimsy lock. I see him creeping up my staircase with a knife.
So--although I can laugh at my mom's worrying--I know, really, I'm laughing at myself.
On August First, the torch of anxiety will be passed to a new generation! Probably. Whether I want to hand off that particular torch or not. Sunrise! Sunset! Swiftly.....through the years!!!
She tells me that there is a certain manufacturer. They make those mechanized swings--sometimes called "Neglecto-matics."
Anyway, this manufacturer has, or had, a defective product. The swing would tip over and spill the baby onto the floor. Then the swing would crush the baby. Imagine! Dead infants!
This story has planted its own seed of worry in me, such that I don't hear the name of the manufacturer. And then there's a coda. The deaths happen only when you use the swing past the "maximum age" threshold. In other words, if you're putting your toddler in an *infant* swing, then, yes, maybe you ought to anticipate death.
It's soothing for me to hear this kind of horror story, because it's precisely the way my own mind works. It's nice to know there's someone out there who understands how your own gears fit together. That same day, I stay up past midnight imagining that all of my fire detectors are out of order. I see a forest of flames; I see my family engulfed. Then I think about a murderer. A guy in the eighties seemed interested in a lady's dog; he bought the dog, then went back to the lady's house and slaughtered her. He also slaughtered her children.
I think of this man, and picture him picking away at my flimsy lock. I see him creeping up my staircase with a knife.
So--although I can laugh at my mom's worrying--I know, really, I'm laughing at myself.
On August First, the torch of anxiety will be passed to a new generation! Probably. Whether I want to hand off that particular torch or not. Sunrise! Sunset! Swiftly.....through the years!!!
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