Disappearing Baby


It was a fairly warm springtime afternoon day. That’s why I propped the front door open as I relaxed on the futon couch while watching my infant son, Kyle sleeping on the blanket in the middle of the apartment floor.

I smiled realizing how lucky I was to have such a precious baby boy.

Before long though I felt myself getting sleepy and knew this was not a good thing so I got up and walked the few steps into the kitchen and prepared a pot of coffee. I returned to the futon and watched as Kyle started to wake up from his nap.

Within minutes the coffee was finished brewing and although I didn’t want to get up and go back into the kitchen I said to my son, “I’ll be right back.”

I disappeared into the kitchen and poured a cup of java and returned to the front room.

An instant wave of panic rush through me as I saw Kyle was no longer on the blanket next to the futon. Setting my coffee down, I stepped outside on the landing. I hadn’t heard any one come up or down the steps and I didn’t see anyone now.

Terrified, I raced down the flight of steps and onto the common sidewalk that connected the apartment complex. I saw absolutely nobody around and I puzzled over what I should do next.

Fighting off the sense of panic that tried to overtake me, I jogged towards the parking lot figuring if anyone were carrying a baby that would be the most likely direction they would head. Again, I saw no one.

Now I felt the urge to panic. I took off in a mad dash around the entire building, racing past the laundry room and offices, then up a short set of steps and back around towards the apartment that I had been living in for the past seven years, seeing not one person in the process.

I was on the verge of tears as I concluded the worse had happened; my son Kyle had been kidnapped.

Resigned to the fact that I must now place a call to the police, it was all an awful prospect that I was dreading. But as I trudged up the stairs to the apartment, I heard a sound that brought a sense of relief to my heart.

It was that of a baby crying. I recognized it as Kyle’s cry.

I raced up the remaining steps. Once up stairs and in the apartment the crying stopped.

 I stood still, listening.

Nothing.

Then there was a faint whimper as Kyle started to cry again. I bent down to discover Kyle under the futon couch and against the wall.

I gently pulled him out and cradled him in his arms, where upon Kyle cooed, never realizing how scared I had been.

Later that evening when Kyle’s mother came to pick him up I explained what happened. She laughed and apologized because she had forgotten to tell me that our son had learned how to roll over — but only one direction.

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