Gone Boy

It was just like one of those horrible Lifetime movies my wife makes me watch with her on Sunday afternoons when we could be viewing something culturally redeeming, like football.

I was just about to step into the shower before work when my wife opened the bathroom door and asked, “Where’s the baby?” He’s still the baby at two and a half.

I scanned the tight quarters of our bathroom. “He’s not in here.”

“He’s not in his bed,” she said. She smiled when she said this, because Big Man has been known to wake up early and go downstairs to start his day without telling anybody.

She went out and I turned on the water. Big Man was surely downstairs getting his crayons out, setting up to draw on some important papers or maybe the living room wall.

Something made me stop. I went out, meeting my wife coming up the stairs. “I can’t find him downstairs,” she said.

We went into the boys’ room. The blinds were down so it was still pretty dark. We could see enough to recognize Buster, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Big Brother was all knotted up in his blankets. Big Man’s bed was empty.

Everything I saw when I first looked at his bed.

Everything I saw when I first looked at his bed.

We went downstairs and began turning on lights. The illumination revealed my total nakedness (don’t dwell on this image; your mind’s eye might go blind) but no sign of Big Man. Maybe he was in the pantry, foraging some breakfast. Nope. He might be under the dining room table, concocting breakfast from escaped bits of last night’s dinner. Nope. There was no sign of him downstairs.

“All the doors are locked,” my wife reassured me. Neither of us was smiling anymore. I’m sure she was recalling the same news reports I was of children being stolen at night, right out from under their parents’ noses. We’d viewed these reports with skepticism, until now.

A search of the guest room revealed nothing, except that my heart was beginning to beat faster. I returned to the boys’ room and turned on the light, no longer concerned with disturbing anyone’s sleep. Big Man’s bed was still empty, but in the light I saw what I’d missed before.

From behind the skirt, hanging down below his bed, protruded one toddler-sized foot. I lifted the skirt and there he was, zonked out like a happy little fugitive, underneath his bed.

Upon closer inspection . . . If not for that protruding foot, he would have only been discovered by the K-9 Unit.

Upon closer inspection . . . If not for those five protruding little piggies, he would have only been discovered by the K-9 Unit.

My heart rate slowed as I took my shower. When I got out my wife reported that our roving sleeper had found his way back to the top side of his mattress.

As I was getting dressed, he sauntered into our room. We asked him where he’d been. He trotted back into his room and pointed under his bed, as if that were the most normal place to be.

We asked him why he was sleeping under his bed. “Wawee under there,” he replied. Wawee is what he calls Buster.

Typical boy. Blame it on your brother.

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36 comments on “Gone Boy

  1. Janet Harvey-Clark says:

    This “story” — with accompanying photos — made me guffaw! But only after I knew Big Man was okay. Keep the laughter coming!!

  2. breathmath says:

    Lol 😂😂😂😂that’s so sweet

  3. Just Joan says:

    Geez, you had me going there for a minute! Toes aren’t likely to be noticed when you’re whirling around in a naked panic… so glad he was safe and sound. One of my cousins was a sleepwalker as a child. when their goldfish mysteriously disappeared one night, it was determined that she must have flushed him down the toilet while sleepwalking. Wild what kids are capable of. 🙂

  4. Great title, I laughed through the whole thing (except the part where you ran around naked, that was disturbing). Here’s the question, Why do wives like to watch those murder shows? My wife watches the ones where the wife kills the husband…I’m not sure if I should start hiding the knives or not.

    • Don’t worry about the knives. It’s always the sociopath babysitter who uses knives. Wives use poison or contract services because they don’t have the same time constraints as the babysitter. Wives can take it slow and enjoy the ride.

  5. Gibber says:

    If my minds eye wasn’t blinded right now, I’d type that this is hilarious and it would have made good You Tube footage..

  6. AmyRose🌹 says:

    OH MY GOSH!! I’ve had those kind of scares with some of our cats and it is NOT funny until it is over. How cute he is sleeping under the bed. Don’t all 2 year olds sleep there? Too funny, Scott! How many grey hairs this time popped out? 🙂 ❤

  7. amommasview says:

    That for sure makes your heart rate sky rock… glad he was there, all happy and cozy 😉

  8. Ahdad says:

    Heart attacks are in order…and high demand!

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