Being a baby has to be discombobulating. How do they make sense of what’s happening to them? I think of this the most when G falls asleep in one place and then wakes up in another. For instance, he passed out in his car seat after we dropped his brother off at school this morning. Then came a 10-minute drive across town where I stopped to put a few bucks of gas in the car. After depositing a check at the bank, I then took him in his carrier into a market for a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. Back into the car and on to home where I put him in the kitchen, asleep all the while. About five minutes later, I heard a cry and went in to see a disoriented expression on his chubby face, like, “how the eff did I get here?” Then he saw me and a look of recognition crept into his eyes. Everything was alright again, but only until our next car ride.
Or at least I felt like I had. Up at 6:30, me and the boys dropped Mama off at her work at 7:30, then back home where I turned B’s Backyardigans episode on, then put G in his swing and played him guitar until he fell asleep. Over to the stove where I browned hamburger meat and cut up vegetables to make Pasta Fagioli in the crockpot. By 8:25, B was messing with G who was awake. I got B and myself dressed, threw G in his car seat, and took off for B’s school to drop him off. Back home again by 9:15, fed G, then took him for a walk in the Bjorn where he passed out. Put him in his swing where he dozed for a while. Whew! I don’t get how people with more than two kids can do this, and I flat-out don’t understand how my mom did it. At one point, she had four kids that were six-years-old and younger. Somehow she always had dinner ready, kept the house clean, and was my father’s secretary at the same time. Was she supernatural?
Almost as soon as I tweeted this, B announced that he had to poop. We were at a park with a bathroom about 70 yards away and I tried to steer him there, but we made it a mere fifteen feet before a nugget dropped out his shorts leg and onto the sidewalk. “No, no, no, you gotta hold it,” I urged him while he screamed that it was coming. Still, I exhorted him to keep going, like a football coach running alongside his running back, only 50 yards to go.
I lugged G in his car seat, and B tried to keep up, stilt-legged, but managed to make it to the toilet where I tore off his shorts and he set about his business. I looked over at G who was wide awake, then at B’s shorts smudged brown in the seat. I tried to clean them with some wet toilet paper but accomplished little, so after wiping B’s butt I put them back on, took off his shoes and shirt, and directed him to the spray ground to put his bottom over the water jets.
Thankfully, he complied. I put G under a shady tree, grabbed a stick, and went over to B’s earlier deposit and flicked it in the grass. Sleep disrupted, peace demolished, but crisis averted … sort of.