What I know from being a parent is that you're walking along, doing the routine: regular life, movie night, popcorn, toothbrushing, stories, bed, and then WHOOP! down you go, down a rabbit hole to a completely different reality. The fairly unwelcome reality of middle of the night phrases like: "Mom?..... I don't feeeeeeel gooooood." And the mad dash to the bathroom only to find the light is already on and the other kid is there too, holding barf in a wastebasket.
The ol' Barf in a Wastebasket Reality.
It's like going to the movie theatre, having to pee and slipping out to the restroom, then returning to what you think is your movie, only you've made a left instead of a right and instead of Ice Age Two (or some other animated silly delight) you find yourself in the midst of Blue Velvet. You're like what the hell? But the script doesn't stop just because it's confusing to you. This script says: Quick get on board before you get barf in your eye.
I suppose everyone finds their lives shifting beneath their feet at some point or another, but the kid life seems to be rife with left turns. Thought you would spend Sunday cleaning the house and then taking the kids swimming? Think again! No one leaves the house! Everyone gets a personal barf bowl! Thought you'd sleep at least until daylight? No siree! Up and at 'em for a five am group shower!
Yesterday even our animals got in the "suddenly act weird' game. Frau the crabby calico decided to pee in the downstairs bathroom. Nimbus the fat russian blue shunned his usual cozy nesting spots and curled up on the cold wood floor, under a stool. Henry got a bit of chicken broth for breakfast and in the thrill of it all humped his bed and licked his penis for hours. Even Ken the guinea pig, who is actually a girl even though I will never get the hang of that idea, came out with a new gaspy rheumatic squeak.
I was the straight man.
And kids, they just roll with things. Not too much head shaking in bewilderment for them. When Echo... I'm sorry there is no gentle way to say this... "sharted" on the kitchen stool, she wasn't embarrassed or miserable, just genuinely curious about how the heck that happened, like: Hey tour guide? I farted and now there is liquid poop on the stool. Can you tell me about that?
Yet somehow it's still fun. The docility alone makes a good argument for a little flu bug now and then. The stillness, the sweetness, the curled up in blankies sipping tea-ness of it all. The Papa reads Harry Potter on the couch part. The toast. The solidarity. Our little bubble of a life. Yellow walls and yellow lamps. The Stand By Me soundtrack.
When you're growing a baby in your belly, stacking mini onesies and diapers in a drawer, you anticipate a cute bundle in a blankie. You don't anticipate long-limbed, opinionated humans barfing in your bed in the middle of the night. It's just one of those hidden surprises.
A bonus feature.
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