“Thump” Jack cries, I’m in the kitchen sweeping up beans and pasta. I give it my usual few seconds wait, the wait that corresponds with the first big inhale of breath before the next “WAHHHHHH.” Jacks on the floor, stomach down, Fiona’s in the arm chair giggling, this isn’t the first time. Did she push him off again I wonder? I sit down on the floor, hold Jack in my arms, his outfit’s damp, that’s what I was doing, going to get diapers, I forgot. “Oh my gosh, there’s a poop on the floor.” I say. It looks like a small dogs poop. Jacks stops crying, I grab some baby wipes, pick up the poop. “Who pooped?” I ask. No one answers, they just run away from me with their baby butts hanging out, chunky legs, sound of their little feet hitting the ground. I get Fiona, see a bit of poop. “Oh, it was you.” I put on a clean diaper. I get Jack, start to remove his wet outfit, “Oh my Gosh! That’s crazy, there’s poop in the leg of your pant.” Clean up Jack, put on the diaper. The design in the carpet has the same color of Jack and Fiona’s poop tonight. I see another little piece. I start crawling and finding bit after bit of brown kind of honey colored poop on the carpet. It could have easily been missed. I think about my friends’ houses I visited when we were little kids, they had cats and kittens. My friend Patty’s house always had cat shit on the floor. My Friend Tanya’s house had cat shit on the walls because her brother was evil and he’d swing the cats by their tails and shit would end up on the wall. Am I a house like that I wonder? No more diaper less freedom in this house I say to myself (Again)
I’m exhausted already, both babies fed bottles and breakfast, four diaper changes so far, it’s only 8:42 am. I’ll admit I turned on baby cartoons for the second time. Yesterday we went to Perry’s park in Fairfax. I push the stroller in the gate, park it next to one that looks just like mine. I take out Jack first then Fiona. There are lots of kids and parents here, Fiona just stands by the stroller watching, Jack walks, falls, walks, falls, the ground is uneven and sandy. He climbs onto the bottom of the slide. I go and get Fiona, “We have to follow Jack.” I tell her. It’s overwhelming, unable to talk to other moms, too distracted, Jack goes one way Fiona the other. Nice play structures, but I feel I’m in someone’s back yard that I don’t know. Fairfax is a very tight community, I feel like an outsider. We leave the park, eat berries and get quesadillas and fish tacos at Grillys. I eat two fish tacos and ½ the babies’ quesadilla. It’s windy and slightly uncomfortable as we sit on the park bench, my stringy hair I can’t wait to get cut off on Friday blowing in my face, the bag, napkins, forks and knives rolling off the bench, it’s the kind of bench that angles back so it’s impossible to set anything on. A woman is walking by. Please don’t talk to us, please don’t come over here. She’s stopping, she’s an older woman with an Indian style outfit, a wizard style walking stick, a beaming bright smile, and a red dot at her third eye. “Meow” she says, “Meow” she repeats this many times. “He doesn’t know what to make of me” she says. Please leave, I’m thinking. I really am not in the mood to talk to anyone. She walks off saying, “Meow, Meow, Meow.” Thank god. Nap time, babies really tired, so am I. Cancel reservation at gym childcare, eat ½ pint of Gelato caramel and cookies, the rest of the tagalongs, hot bath, cup of Easy Now.
It’s a beautiful morning. The nice thing about only having a nanny on Mondays and Fridays is I have the house to myself more often. The babies and I are on the same wavelength. We need our alone time, our activity time, our sleep time. The only time they drive me crazy is when they are whining or fighting over the remote control or the phone. Jack and Fiona are down for their morning nap now. I hear cute little noises on the baby monitor as I finish this up. I started working on some new paintings inspired by the old pictures of my mom when she was a little girl. I’m going to my studio until Jack and Fiona wake up from their nap.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 