Nothing is as blessed or as disturbing to a parent as the sound of silence.

Our friends and I have heaved a collective sigh of relief as the roving destructive dervish that is our collective children go (relatively) still, if just for a moment.   Long enough for people to enjoy perhaps a sentence or two of adult conversation.

In the same day I have held my breath in quiet terror as I stare at my daughter through the door jamb leading into her room as she herself stares out the window opposite her crib.  I stand there, hoping she doesn’t see me, wondering what she’s thinking.

Silence heralds both angelic sleep and demonic destruction.

In rapt silence our children are entranced by the sites and sounds of every day moments, broken only at the end by an excited “Look Daddy!”  In angry silence our children glare at foods that displease them, baths that displease them, cribs that displease them, and parents that displease them.

Silence is a balm.  Silence is a sword.

And silence is broken.  My daughter is awake.