I see my reflection in the window with the glow of the computer screen on my face. It’s still dark outside. The house is asleep. The kettle is humming. I go over to turn it off before it beeps and graze my little toe on the corner of the high chair, the plastic pinches and scrapes, “Damn!” Then just like clockwork as I’m buttering my toast I hear the babies on the monitor starting to babble. My coffee is nice and hot, my toast warm with peanut butter and banana. I’ll let them babble until I finish my breakfast. Today Jack and Fiona turn one year old. Super yard Baby fences section off the house like a spaceship. Toys scatter the floors, some of which feel more like torture devices than playthings, the sharp plastic corners dig into the bottom of my feet and make me cuss. The frustration of these things does sneak up on me. Then I start to get mad at things I normally could deal with, like lately I’m trying to teach the babies how to treat books. They put them in their mouths and have already destroyed “Quack Quack with Jemima Puddle Duck”. So I start to use the word “no” which has been put away until now. Fiona puts “Polar Bear Polar Bear” in her mouth, I say “no Fiona not in your mouth” and gently pull the book down. Her lip curls, her eyes squint and she starts to cry the saddest little cry I ever did see. We repeat this sequence about 5 times, now I think maybe it’s too early to teach this lesson! Today since it is their birthday I took both babies out of their cribs at the same time, took off their sleep sacks and pajamas, and was able to change their diapers on the floor of the nursery because it was just pee. I dressed them in their birthday outfits, Fiona is a Lady Bug, and Jack is a Bumble Bee. Then I scooped up both babies and carried 45 pounds of baby up the stairs to the kitchen. I see my black dog Billy, part Border collie but looks like a wolf, trotting down the street. I don’t know how she got out last night, I hope she didn’t kill anyone’s cat. It’s time to make the cake now. How will I take care of the babies, make the birthday cake and clean the kitchen? Take a deep breath, make another cup of coffee.
Tag: first birthday
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Angel food cake, that’s what I’ll make. Nine egg whites, I’ll top it with strawberries. I have a memory of my mom asking me, “What kind of cake do you want me to make you for your birthday?” I said, “Angel food cake.” Betty Crocker or was it Duncan Hines in a box, just add water. But I loved it just the same. My first birthday is out of my minds reach and my mom died six years ago. My babies first birthday is a reminder of that. I feel the loss, I feel nostalgic. When I woke up this morning I thought how fast the night went, and can it really be another day? The first feeling was dread, all the chores, the cleaning, cooking. The next feeling was excitement about my morning cup of coffee, which I have begun to drink again against doctors’ orders due to my chronic anxiety and insomnia. I tried sneaking up the stairs but Jack called for me, I grabbed him, put him in his high chair, then Fiona. We all had breakfast together, it was lovely. I hadn’t even considered calling my dad to ask him about my first birthday. Saturday I won’t put up any decorations and we won’t wear silly birthday hats. I never liked how the elastic cuts into my neck. I’ll make a cake and buy some ice cream. I’ll let Jack and Fiona dig their little hands into it and make the best mess ever.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 