It was much too quiet. The green light on the monitor was steady, but I had just laid the baby to sleep so I wasn't expecting to hear him crying. It was the two year old. She never napped, and she usually announced her arrival by clumsy steps which would stamp rather than walk. When she did walk she muttered nonsense to herself, but when she ran with a quick thud-thud-thud of size 2 shoes, she always shouted. Her laces are always untied of course. It's a miracle she's never in the hospital with some sort of mild concussion, but just as I was thinking that, the house became uncomfortably silent. I feared she had fallen somewhere and I didn't know where she was. I felt my suspicions rise, followed by worry and panic. I yelled for her. No answer. I looked behind doors and under beds. No child. I yelled once more and was answered by the baby's cry over the monitor, but the two year old was my priority. As often happens when one is apprehensive, I began to think the worst. She had fallen down stairs, or she had discovered how to open the front door, or was the door to the pool locked? I looked everywhere and no two year old. Then, stopping me abruptly in my tracks, was the little girl's full-on stare.
