Parenting is a tough job. You have to worry about the health and welfare of your children. Whether it’s outside influences, or illness or safety issues, parenting is a non-stop series of jolts, jumps, fears and issues that you can’t shake.

But since the birth of Gertrude there is only one thing that has me waking up in a cold sweat at night. Only one thing that makes me wonder if this whole parenting thing is worth it. Will she be able to survive this stage of childhood? Will I?

It’s the music on her baby light symphony toy. From Beethoven to “This Old Man” this thing plays music with flashing lights non-stop. Tuneless, joyless, electronic versions of classical and children’s songs blared out at an uncontrollable volume.

It wasn’t so bad when we were in control. But that’s not the case anymore. Gertrude, in her ever-expanding grasp of the world, now understands how to turn the thing on. And once it’s on, there is no turning it off until it decides that the baby is sated or the parents are a pile of drooling goo in the corner.

It starts with a 20 second snippet of Fur Elise. Then it moves on to Frere Jaques, I’m a Little Tea Pot and on and on and on. I tell you . . . I hate that friggin' tea pot.

Gertrude coos with contentment. She smiles and drools and kicks her feet. And when it’s all over . . . she starts it again.

Late at night, when the lights are off and the kids are asleep, I close my eyes. And I see the flashing lights and hear the music over and over and over and over again. I wake up screaming.

And it’ only going to get worse. We have Baby Van Gough, Richard Scarry’s ABCs, Barney and The Wiggles to look forward to.

So today, I’ve strapped Gertrude in her pumpkin seat. She’s facing the stereo with Rubber Soul on repeat. On the television is an endless display of famous scenes from classic films. In her hands is the remote control.