The moms and I talk about poop. And peeing, too, to be fair. He goes poop on the potty, but not pee. She goes pee, but not poop. He likes to do it all by himself. She never tells me when she has to go. She tells me, which is good. That’s good. I hear that girls are easier than boys. For me, the opposite is true. The accidents are gross. I live in the bathroom. It’s so big when you see it in the bowl. He insists he wipe himself, and its disgusting. It’s all gross.
In the beginning it was sleep. Are they sleeping? How do they sleep? A cousin who does not yet have children admitted that when in the company of people who have children, that’s his go-to question. “I dont know what to talk to them about, and they always end up going into a story”…We’re sleep training. We’re getting 12 hour stretches! We’re up every 3 hrs. We’re exhausted. We’re fine! It’s hard.
By age one, it was onto food. Are they eating? Do they eat well? She loves vegetables. He too! Mine don’t eat anything. He’s sooo picky. He would eat a shoe. She’s a chub. She’s a beanpole. He can’t eat anything hot. Nothing too cold! Nothing mushy. It’s a consistency thing. Chicken nuggets. Macaroni and cheese. Why do all kids only want to eat chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese? (because they’re smart) Mine eat everything! Hummus! (how very good for you)
…”What channel is the game on tonight?” I asked your dad this morning on his way out the door. He’s going to the All Star game later at Shea Stadium.
“Fox,” he replied.
“Oh, okay,” an oh okay that could’ve been interrupted as okay cool, I’ll watch later, but really meant oh, crap, I wonder if that means So You Think You Can Dance won’t be on?
Because the more we all get older, the more I see it’s all about the simple things: And like an old lady come nightfall, all I want to do is sit and watch my shows.
*by amy denby