Time Slowing

Babygirl did her part today to make sure that I didn't feel the swoosh of time whizzing by. She drove me crazy. All day, starting with her wake-up call at 7:15 a.m.

Babygirl has a new obsession: the shower. She wants to take two, sometimes three showers per day. She doesn't stay in the shower, however, but comes running out, all shivery, with chattering teeth and I say, "Hey, are you all done?" and she says, "No, I shower!" and then she swings her arms as she runs back to the bathroom. Then, just as the shampoo container says, "rinse and repeat." She does this over and over again until I finally outwit, outplay and outlast her by turning off the hot water. Who's the survivor now, chickadee?

Babygirl was mostly weaned until this week and the trauma of seeing the photographer, being actually touched by the doctor and having a loosey-goosey schedule has flung her backwards in time and now she cries out at random times throughout the day--while I am washing dishes or struggling to undo the bolts on the iron railing in the living room that must come out now so I can paint--"Mama chair! Mama chair!"

Today, my neighbor stopped by with her little girl who is four. My neighbor is a lovely woman who takes my son to school and this year, we actually reciprocate by picking up her son along with our son. Last year, she picked up and dropped off every single day. We are losers. I know.

Anyway, I invited her and Malini in and Malini rushed past me into the living room where Babygirl was minding her own business, watching television and when she saw Malini before she saw me, all sorts of alarms and whistles went off in her head and she completely freaked out.

She cried and cried, while I attempted to soothe her and chat with my neighbor. Babygirl does not like surprises. She handled that particular surprise so poorly that I have to wonder if she's getting sick or perhaps suffering from an inoperable brain tumor or developing paranoid schizophrenia.

My neighbor and her daughter stayed for an hour, maybe longer, and toward the end of the visit, Babygirl warmed up and stopped her hysterics. When they left at 11:00 a.m., I was worn out.

Here are the things Babygirl prefers that I refrain from doing in her presence:

1) Wash dishes.
2) Fold laundry.
3) Put away laundry.
4) Read the newspaper.
5) Read any book, other than "Moonbear."
6) Prepare the living/dining room walls for paint.
7) Sit at the computer.
8) Cook dinner.
9) Talk on the phone. (When the phone rings, she drops everything and runs for the phone, yelling, "I got it! I got it!")
10) Watch television, other than Sesame Street and the Wiggles.

Oh, and she doesn't want me out of her sight, either. I thought I'd go to the small group Bible study at church tonight. I haven't been for weeks, maybe months. I changed into something without baby smears on it, put on make-up while she dug her fingernails into my eyeshadow compact, fixed my unruly hair, brushed my teeth while she stood on the bathroom counter and finally, put on shoes and told my husband, "You can distract her by offering her a S-H-O-W-E-R."

He scooped her off the bathroom counter and told her she could have a shower and she began to wail, "Mommy! Mommy! No shower! No shower!"

With an exasperated throw of my shoes, I said, "Fine. Let's get your pajamas on."

I felt like I stood myself up. I put her to bed at 7:30 p.m. and as my husband said, "You are all dressed with no place to go." I said, "Yes, I am pathetic."

So, I went to Marshall's to shop the clearance rack and then to Dairy Queen for a "Blizzard."

At least the world wasn't on fast-forward today. Every moment meandered by with exquisite slowness. I told my husband tonight, "You forget because you've been to Portland and out to lunch and out of the house all week that some of us haven't gone anywhere or done anything for weeks."

He said, "Are you saying I'm a bad person?" which is our standard reply to each other when we are having a somewhat serious discussion.

And, if I hadn't been so crabby, I would have remembered the correct answer, which is, "No. I'm saying you're fat."

Tomorrow, what to do, what to do. . . paint the living/dining room? Get out of the house without kids? Catch up on laundry? Pay bills? Take the kids swimming on the last Saturday the pool will be open this season? My husband is officiating at a wedding at 4:30 p.m., so he'll be gone during the afternoon.

At this point, my main goal is to sleep in, as much as is humanly possible living with these four children who have no respect for the sanctity of sleep on Saturday mornings. It's an outrage, really.