It is just after 8:00 AM when the “banging” begins. It doesn’t last long. In fact, after four or five seconds it stops, and my house falls silent again. But that banging … it lasts just long enough to upset me. To anger me. To piss me off.
Because “the banging” isn’t just some random sound. It isn’t someone stomping, or a car backfiring outside. It is the sound of my neighbors’ fist pounding against our paper thin walls.
It is their instinctive, visceral, and rude-ass response to my daughter running, living, laughing, and just being a kid.
You see, my husband, daughter, and I live in a condo. A poorly and cheaply constructed condo. And while we have a slew of neighbors all round us — quiet ones and loud ones; nosey ones and shy ones — our unit only shares walls with one other neighbor: our downstairs neighbors.
Of course, this is good news. At least, in a sense. It means their complaints are limited to only us and the things we do — as are our’s. Unfortunately, they complain about everything and anything my daughter does: the time she wakes, where she plays when she wakes, and what she does while she is awake.
Singing is frowned upon. Dancing is frowned upon. Walking is frowned upon. Running and jumping are definitely frowned upon.
Her drum-playing piss them off. Her play vacuum pisses them off. Her dolly’s stroller pisses them off. Hell, the sound of her LEGOs pisses them off.
That said, I am (somewhat) empathetic. We spent six years living below a 6-year-old turned tween, and I know how frustrating it can be. I know how obnoxious it can be. As such, we have done some things to help deaden the sound. We have area rugs and throw rugs; we wear socks, or slippers socks; and we enforce a strict “no shoe” policy on ourselves and our guests. Dancing, jumping, and running are activities confined to carpeted areas only.
But unless I tell my daughter to stop living — unless I keep her from playing and simply being — there isn’t much I can do, because I don’t want to stifle her. And I sure as hell do not want to discipline her for merely “having fun.”
For doing all the normal things a toddler can, and should, do.
Because, the truth of the matter is, childhood is LOUD. It is noisy and boisterous, lively and energetic. And while there are times when my daughter’s noise level is, perhaps, a bit “excessive” — while there are times I wish she would calm down or quiet herself, at least for a bit — her loudness is a reflection of her growing personality. It is proof she is living life and enjoying it. It shows exactly how excited, joyful, and enthusiastic she can be, and — at the end of the day — her loudness is a sign of happiness.
Innocent, carefree, unapologetic happiness.
So while I am sorry that my daughter’s every footfall wakes you at 6 AM every Saturday, and that our walls are paper thin, our floorboards unforgiving, and the soundproofing is pitifully non-existent … I am not sorry that my daughter dances every morning. I am not sorry that she sings in the shower (that WE sing in the shower) every evening. And I will not apologize for her laughing, her occasional screaming, her running, or for her playing — because she is a kid. A young, free spirited child, just like you once were. And I want to give her the best childhood possible.
My ultimate concern is for her happiness, not your hangover.
Besides, someday that innocence will be gone. Her joy will be lessened, and the “loudness” will cease. And on those days — when she is grown and my house is empty, silent, and still — I want to remember the games we played, the songs we sung, the dance parties we had, and the memories we made. Not the ones we didn’t.
I don’t want to look back and regret the moments I shut down or sushed or stopped her, because she isn’t a disturbance; she is a child.
My happy, bubbly, wild little baby girl, who is living every beautiful moment as it comes to her.
