Dear Moto,
I love you. And I hate you.
Our courtship began several months ago when you competed against several other models for my love. I checked out your online profile, read the comments, and even discussed our impending relationship with my wife. Would she be OK with it?
I thoroughly vetted your features, capabilities, and stamina. It was a tough test and you had some stiff competition. You weren’t the most sophisticated, and certainly not the most accessible, but you were reliable. Your range seemed acceptable, your stamina appeared adequate, and I liked that you didn’t hide your temper(ature). I was confident that we could co-exist well and that Mrs. FWL wouldn’t mind you in our lives.
You entered our lives at a turning point. Isabel had just left the nest and we needed comforting. She was entering the unknown territory of her new space and we were unsure how she would react. And Mrs. FWL was sad that her baby was no longer next to her. But you helped us through this transition.
The comforting glow of your screen and hum of your speaker allowed us to sleep soundly. You were never more than an arm’s reach away should we need to check on our baby girl. You let us gaze into your soul and see her squirm safely and sleep soundly.
We also knew that we could count on you regardless of where we took you. We knew that you’d be by our side in the kitchen, living room, or the bathroom; always keeping an eye on Isabel to make sure she was safe and sound.
Oh, but how I hate you. Each night you show the same movie on a 3×5″ screen, and the only attendees are two hyper-sensitive parents crossing their fingers and toes that tonight will be a good night. There isn’t even any popcorn!
The script consists of the same questions over, and over again. How far will Isabel move? Is she OK in that position? She’s moving a lot, do we need to comfort her? I hear her crying…how long should we wait? I think she’s up now…no wait…she’s asleep again…I think.
And even when Isabel is not talking, whimpering, moaning, or crying, you are still there, daring us to turn your screen on and gaze into your soul. You play with our emotions and put this constant fear that something might be wrong. Ten hours and she’s still sleeping? What?! So instead of letting you do your job, we are constantly checking every few hours to make sure everything is OK.
I love you and I hate you, but I trust you, and so I thank you. Keep giving us the peace of mind we need as new parents. Continue being our eyes and ears when we need to rest our own. One day we might use some of your other features, but for now, your color 3×5” screen and speaker are just fine.
Love,
Seth
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