Field Note No. 9

The Phantom Cry

I attempted a shower.

A luxury. A gamble. A move that suggests confidence. Everything is easier with the second baby.

Wrong.

The water ran. Steam filled the room. I allowed myself thirty reckless seconds of pretending I am a woman with autonomy.

Then I heard it.

A cry.

Faint. Urgent. Specific.

The baby.

I froze.

Every maternal alarm system activated at once. I turned off the water mid-rinse. Conditioner still in. Heart pounding. I listened.

There it was again. Or was it?

I stepped out, dripping, wrapped in a towel that offered neither dignity nor speed.
I moved down the hallway, braced for impact.

She was asleep.

Peaceful. Still. Offensively calm.

I stood there, wet and betrayed.
Back in the shower, I tried again. Another cry floated through the steam. Faint, but unmistakable.
This time, I did not move.

Is this….growth?

I stood there, water running, conducting a mental inventory.

Was it real? Was it plumbing? Was it my own brain, unwilling to allow unsupervised hygiene?

Silence again.

Experts believe the phantom cry is a survival adaptation. A biological feature designed to ensure offspring preservation.

I believe it is psychological conditioning.

Either way, I have accepted that I will never shower without suspicion.

The baby was asleep.
My nervous system was not.