Some of you may know that I don’t like a lot of noise. Most of you probably know that I’m essentially a selfish person. One thing that I always knew about myself was that having children would be a real challenge based on those other two things about myself.

A few years ago, after climbing during a kid’s birthday party at Rocknasium (a climbing gym in Davis), I wrote in a card to Husband: “Children should not be seen or heard.” At that climbing birthday party they were all over the place, shrieking and laughing, having a blast, and nearly getting tangled in our climbing ropes and killing us all.

But it’s the noise that bothers me most, even more than near-death experiences from great heights.

At the baby shower some friends threw for Z, my friend B-Dawg gave me a pack of earplugs as a sort of joke.

There is nothing funny about these earplugs. I depend on them. From her very first day On the Outside, Z’s screams of rage, her cries of pain, and her shouts of joy have been too much for my eardrums to handle. Her mighty roars make my brain tremble inside my head. Whenever it’s too much (which is often), I use earplugs to dull the noise and am able to barely tighten my grip on sanity.

So here’s my secret: At all times I have a pair of earplugs tucked inside my bra.

Sexy? No. Practical? Oh, yes.