Monday, March 06, 2006

A Poo Filled Life and A Bowling Ball for a Head

We have a book called “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus” that we read to The Mayor. At the beginning of the book a bus driver asks the audience (The Mayor) to watch things for him and NO MATTER WHAT, DON’T LET THE PIGEON DRIVE THE BUS. The rest of the book is the pigeon asking / begging / conniving to drive the bus. Whenever, and I mean WHENEVER we ask The Mayor if we should let the pigeon drive the bus he grins, squints his eyes and says, “yeah” with fiendish enthusiasm. He is a pigeon sympathizer. He feels the pigeon’s pain. He also sometimes says, “I want to drive it”, so I know he and the pigeon are soul brothers.

Rooster Girl’s crib is still in our bedroom, but K isn’t. He’s been sleeping in the office for about six weeks. She gets up in the middle of the night to nurse and I do that in the bed so that I can get some sleep, but K can’t sleep through it, so he doesn’t sleep in there at the moment. Rooster Girl tends to thrash around a bit after nursing, but usually settles down after awhile and goes back to sleep. I am, however, invariable awoken by “the bowling ball hold,” a slick little maneuver she has where she takes the first two fingers on her hand and shoves one up each of my nostrils and then shoves her thumb in my mouth. I’m sure she’s a future US Bowling Champion – and that is all well and good- but it is one helluva way to wake up.

This morning as soon as I stumbled out to the breakfast table, my son grabbed my by the groggy finger, looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said, “Mama, come play it, choo choo.” He had the most pleading look and what could I do but shuffle my slippered feet to his room and help him make his trains go round and round on the track?

Soon after this most innocent experience he began screaming and crying because the poo poo wouldn’t come out and “OUCH!” I held him up in my arms with his legs bent to his chest while he sobbed on my shoulder and struggled to eliminate “THE WORLDS HARDEST TORPEDO POO’’ from his teeny little bottom.

Rooster Girl did her share of grunting and grunting this morning. Baby poo everywhere.

My poo-filled life.