Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Dear Babies,

Your father accidentally set the house alarm off this morning at six a.m. You guys woke up, obviously, with a literal horn sounding, and the alarm company called to make sure everything was okay. Y0ur dad got in the shower and when he got out I asked him, groggily making my way into your bedroom, gypped of a good half hour of sleep, “what happened?”

He said, “I don’t know…”

…A plumber was set to come at 8:15 a.m. to install a new garbage disposal in the kitchen sink and an outdoor shower. (As if we aren’t animals enough, now we are going to shower outside!) When the man arrived he had a cast on his wrist. He asked to see where the shower was going and I pointed to the wall out back against the house in between the two gutters and said, “there” and he said, “oh, I can’t do this.” I blinked at him, like, well¬†I can’t do this either, as you guys went to town on the eight hundred (800) Stop & Shop grocery bags that had also just been delivered. (Because that had to happen at the same time, Alanis Morissette was right, it is ironic!) As you began hurling orange juice bottles out the open sliding glass door onto the patio the plumber went on to explain, “I have 15 stitches in my wrist, I can’t get them wet.” I blinked at him again, this time my eyes saying, “I’m sorry, you’re a plumber, you didn’t know you might be dealing with pipes and water?” And because my eyes had said this, all of this, verbatim, he responded, “I didn’t know what the job entailed.”

He didn’t know…

…Sometime after lunch, you, Baby Boy, began balancing on a package of diapers–still on the floor from the morning’s delivery–like a surfboard. I told you that was super dangerous, my exact words. You slipped, of course, and bit your tongue. It was bleeding a little so I went to get you a cup of water–thinking I’m not even going to bother with a straw, it’s just a sip! (Hardy har har!) I scooped you up and held you tight and kissed your head. I told you every little thing was gonna be all right (because, aside from Alanis, I also like to think that Bob Marley was on to something). I handed you the cup, and because you are my child and moderation is not in our genes, you chugged the water. You slammed it. From your eye-popping expression even you were surprised. You coughed. I kissed your head again. It’s okay, it’s okay. You gagged. It’s okay. You started recoiling your neck and hacking. Oh no! I ran us over to the sink but it was too late: You threw up all over me. I mean, all. Over. Me. On my ear which slid down my shoulders into the wee cleavage of my sports bra down my bare stomach onto my pants and dripped down to my calves onto my bare feet in between my toes. Curdled milk. Un-chewed ham. Chunks of cantaloupe. A few of this morning’s blueberries. The only thing missing was a tire and perhaps a giant tuna, like what they found when they cut open the wrong shark in “Jaws.” You were crying. Your sister was slipping and sliding around in your throw up. I carried you, Baby Boy, and dragged your sister by the arm, up to the upstairs bathroom, leaving one long trail of cheese-reeking throw up behind like a very messed up bodily-fluid version of Hansel and Gretel. Upstairs I peeled our soaked clothes off and stepped into the shower with you, Baby Boy, and began hosing us down like we were on fire. You, Baby Girl, stood outside of the tub looking at us like “what…the hell..is going on?”

I said aloud to you, both of you, “I don’t know, baby, I don’t know. . . ”

…I threw on a towel, put you guys down for a nap, and began counting down the seconds until I could shower again after I’d cleaned the mess up. At one point I was mid-way on the stairs bent over scrubbing the rug when I heard the mailman arrive. Our front door was open, and if he looked up, I mean he looked right up, he might have gotten himself quite a view.

I don’t know if he did. If somewhere in the world right now a mailman is blogging, not writing “oh yeah!” but “oh, the horror…”

…I made myself a wrap for lunch stuffed with so many things I had no idea how I was going to bite it.

…I don’t know what I’m making for dinner.

…What I’m going to do with you guys once you wake up.

…I don’t know if it’s going to rain.

…I like to use the analogy for life of a cork bobbing in the water, and we go up and down and we just try to stay afloat.

…Sometimes I think we are jellyfish, content with the current, pretty harmless with an occasional bite.

…Sometimes we are atoms, and we collide, and sparks fly, and reactions happen we could never have expected, sometimes good, sometimes bad…

…Sometimes we’re like bumper cars, thinking we’re in control when we really are not, and after five minutes of getting jerked around and whacked from the side we get off the ride, wobbly, and say to our friends “hey that wasn’t as much fun as I thought.”

I don’t know, babies. I just don’t know.




2 thoughts on “Tuesday, July 24, 2012

  1. Bethany Meyer says:

    Amy, the description of being thrown up on by a toddler was vivid enough that I had the sensation of being thrown up on by a toddler. Spot on! I could almost smell it.

    The outside shower? I can relate. We have one shower for the six of us. My husband came home from a hike with the boys one day in May. He was holding 3 bamboo shoots. Each of them was 15 feet in length. “Pole vaulting?” I asked. “Outdoor shower,” he announced. He explained that he’d like to line the outside of the hypothetical outdoor shower with bamboo because, “wouldn’t it be cool?” I love bamboo. And he can do the plumbing himself, luckily. Unless he gets that tattoo on his shoulder he’s been wanting…in which case he won’t be able to get wet.

    • amydenby says:

      Take two with a plumber is tomorrow, so fingers crossed. If not, thank you, there’s always pole vaulting! (We, well, he, already has the tattoo.)

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