“Maybe he needs to get used to noise,” my neighbor remarked about my newborn when I appeared at his door, requesting that he turn the music down. The next day, karma caught up with him.
My upstairs neighbor made that comment about my three-week-old as I stood at his door, baby on my chest, requesting the music be turned lower.
I hadn’t showered, my hair twisted into a knot probably now permanent. I kept Theo with me rather than leaving him two floors down, even for a moment.
“It wakes him. Same time every day.”
“That’s when I clean.”
“You clean with drums?”
“Sometimes.” Kevin stood in the doorway. “Cleaning requires music.”
“I’m sleeping ninety minutes at a time. Just two periods of quiet.”
“I have the right to enjoy my home. I pay rent, too.”
Theo shifted. Kevin looked down and made the same comment.
“Please,” I said, frustrated by tears I wished were anger.
He smiled. “Sorry.”
The apology fell flat. The door closed. The music got louder.
Three weeks after giving birth, Daniel worked fourteen-hour shifts and left before sunrise.
No nearby family, nanny, or sister to help. On some days the microwave beep made me cry.
I began keeping a record, doubting my memory.
Monday, 10:17. Bass.
Tuesday, 2:03. Drums.
Wednesday, 10:14. Music.
Thursday, 1:58. Drums.
That night, I showed Daniel my notes over reheated pasta.
“Clara, how would he know Theo’s schedule?”
“The walls are thin. He hears us.”
A heavy sigh from Daniel.
“You’re just exhausted. It amplifies things.”
“Do you think I’m imagining the drums?”
“Not exactly. Maybe connecting things.”
His work phone buzzed.
I started making thirty-second, timestamped recordings each time.
Next Tuesday, after Theo resisted sleep all morning, his eyes closed at 10:14. At 10:15, the ceiling shook, he startled awake.
I sat with him in the hallway, crying hard, and called Maya.
Maya visited—brought coffee and her laptop, listened to recordings, then went knocking on doors.
By six, she’d spoken to eight neighbors.
At 4:55 am, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
“Look out your front window. Don’t laugh loudly—you’ll wake the baby.”
I stepped around the bassinet and moved the curtain.
