A day in the life

We wake up, tangled together and sweaty, the temperature having stayed at or above 55 throughout the night. Somehow I have been pushed to the center of the bed, and he is occupying the prime real estate formerly known as My Side. He has been crawling stealthily into the Big Bed every night around 3:30. I wonder if maybe he senses that in about six months the bed might be too crowded for his liking. Daddy is already leaving, and the morning routine will not be the same for him this morning. No cereal together while Mommy sleeps for an extra blissful ten minutes alone. Only sad for a minute, he rolls over onto his back, feet in the air and calls out “Bye Dada!” He’s adopted this new baby talk toward his dad, which I can’t say I mind. I’ve been Mama for months now.

He gets himself ready almost entirely on his own, pairing his “Super Fast Racing Team” shirt with some “No button pants” and topping it off with his brown and red striped socks and red Chucks. “This is my fastest outfit,” he declares. And I believe him.

We’re early for school which is unprecedented. I spend time with him in his classroom as he exclaims over things he surely sees every single day of the week. “A black car, Mama! Look! Look on the train table! That’s so silly!” As I chat with his teacher he settles into a chair with a book, flipping the pages slowly. “He’s such a focused child,” his teacher says. “He notices everything. You can tell he is going to love school when he’s older.” I suppress the urge to yell “I KNOW, HE’S SO TOTALLY AWESOME.” and just simply nod and say, “Yes, he really likes books.”

I leave him to go over to Babyland and he waves bye, saying “Today we eat lunch together!” with a big grin. I smile the whole way over to my building.

After the work day is over I look forward to picking him up. Spending the whole day with other people’s children makes me really miss my own. It makes me feel protective of my energy, like they’re stealing something that is rightfully his. Little energy stealers.

As I approach the place where he waits for me outside, a teacher says, “Your little guy likes to lick the poles outside.” Awesome, no germs there, I say. Not that it matters. He’s already informed me that he likes to play “Touch Tongues” with his best friend, a game whose gist you can probably guess.

We walk to Chick-Fil-A with friends and I order him chocolate milk. He doesn’t usually get chocolate milk, but I’m feeling chocolate-milky toward him today, and besides it will probably help get rid of that pole taste in his mouth. He spends much of the lunch time sounding out words with my friends, an activity he loves. “Wh-Wh-Wh-A-A-Le-Le. Chew! It says chew!” Reading’s still a little bit of a crapshoot at this point. But he did just turn three.

We leave our friends and walk to the bookstore so that I can try to find a book on having a second child. You know, some secret handbook about preparing your first child how not to be the Center of the Universe anymore. He spends most of the time crawling around the floor with a car, until I realize he hasn’t moved in a while and I look over at him standing in the Just Published section with that familiar frozen stance. “Bug, are you pooping?” I hiss, trying not to call to much attention to him. This is impossible, as he is directly in the center of the whole store. “Yeah, but I’m not finished yet!” he yells. “Ok, now I’m finished pooping, Mama!”

“Um, do you guys have a bathroom?” I ask. Luckily they are kind and direct me there with a smile. We do the best cleanup we can with the supplies we have, but I have no extra underwear, and no wipes. I tell Bug that he will be “going commando” and he laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Commando is silly, Mama,” he says. And I agree.

So we make our hasty exit and walk back to the car, Bug alternately racing ahead of me and stopping to clutch himself and say “I don’t have on underwear!” on the sidewalk. We make it back to the car and he says, “That was a good lunch, Mama.”

We get home and get ready to take our afternoon walk to the playground. We change clothes, pee, pack snacks and are set to go.

He waits on me while I write this post, standing in the open door and yelling “Hey bird! Hey bird!” and roaring at nobody. Finally, he can wait no longer.

“Let’s go Mama.”

“Ok buddy, I’m ready. Thanks for waiting.”

“Yeah. And Mama.”

“Yes buddy.”

“I’m not going to poop in my underwear at the playground.”

“That sounds like a plan, buddy.”

We dust the pollen off the stroller, put on our shades, and we’re off.


1 Dorothy { 04.02.08 at 2:34 pm }

2 comments in 2 days – lucky you….first, i laughed out loud at this….second – do you want your other baby/pregnancy books back? I was going to bring them in May, but you may want them before that…i will mail them if you do. btw, we’re not coming to ATL in 2 weeks like i wanted…bummer

2 alianora { 04.02.08 at 3:11 pm }

Oh, dear. I love the “Im not finished yet!” Im terrified of toilet training, and I still have *checks watch* 21 days until my child turns ONE.

two. i love that you call him “buddy,” because that’s what we call Voldemort most of the time.

3 Rachel D { 04.02.08 at 8:38 pm }

LOVE this post. What a great day! (except for the poop part)

4 racher { 04.02.08 at 8:59 pm }

Dorothy – I’m emailing you about the books…

Alia – I think “buddy” just came out involuntarily the minute he was born. It was weird. I even accidentally call girls at the PMO buddy all the time. I can’t stop. It’s like a sickness.

Rachel – what’s not to like about POOP?

5 Rachel D { 04.03.08 at 6:28 pm }

Hee – oh how you’ve changed since freshman year (I think you know what story I’m referring to…but MP definitely would).

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