Page 5 of This Life and All the Rest
Bang bang bang.
“Uh-oh.”
Bang bang bang.
“Uhh-oooh.”
I crack one eye open and focus it on the noisemaker. She’s using her empty bottle as a mallet and is currently going to town on my coffee table. I lift my eyes to the clock by the television.
Six a.m.
Jesus, where does this kid get her energy? I’m still exhausted.
Bang bang bang.“Uh-oh! Uh-ohhhh!”
“Ok, Squirt, I’m up.”
I sit up and reach my arms up in a stretch, then run my hand through my hair. It’s getting a little long. It’s about time I see the barber and tighten it up again.
I push myself to standing slowly, wincing through the stiffness, then head into the kitchen. I don’t have to pick up the kid. She speed-crawls behind me.
“You want eggies or eggies this morning?” I glance at her over my shoulder. She giggles and moves to a sitting position in the middle of the floor. “Eggies it is. Good choice.”
I whip us up some scrambled eggs, keeping an eye on her as I do. She found the ball under the table that we lost yesterday, and she’s fucking stoked. It’s one of those annoying ones that makes noises when you hit it on the floor or bounce it. I’m definitely sending that thing back with her this time. I could murder the person who gave it to her.
I fix up her highchair tray with eggs and some bits of avocado, then fix my own plate. When I turn back to the table, I find she’s used one of the kitchen chairs to pull herself up to standing and is acting like she’s about to take some steps.
“Nope, nope,” I say quickly, sticking my foot out and nudging her gently, so she falls back on her butt. She giggles, and I shake my head. “None of that, Squirt. No first steps allowed unless Mama is here.”
She squeals and claps.
“Mamamamama,” she says happily as I set my plate down and pick her up, sticking her in her highchair and strapping her in.
“We’ll see Mama soon. Eat your breakfast.”
We eat our eggs in relative silence. She hums to herself, and I scroll through some news articles on my phone, huffing every time I read something that pisses me off, which is often.
I look up from my phone to find that she’s painted her cheeks, forehead, and hands green with avocado. She’s the messiest eater. It’s gross, but in a cute way.
“You’re a slob.” I laugh, and she flashes those little teeth on a grin, mouth full of egg. “I’m not going to be able to take you anywhere until you learn how to eat. It’s embarrassing.”
“Mamamama,” she says again, giggling as food drops out of her mouth. There’s avocado on her eyebrow. How the hell does that even happen?
“Mama is going to think I let you play in a dumpster.”
I get up and grab a washcloth, wet it with warm water, then gently wipe off her face. More giggles, more chanting. When she’s finished, I wipe her down again, then haul her out of the chair.
Diaper change, clothing change, baby shoes that make no sense because she’s just going to kick them off in the car. I grab her diaper bag, shove the menace ball into it, then we head out of the apartment and down the stairs to the parking lot.
I’m still in the joggers and USMC t-shirt I wore to bed, but I swiped on some deodorant and threw on a baseball cap on our way out the door. I buckle her into her car seat then slide into the driver’s side.
I crank the engine and turn on Fleetwood Mac’s albumRumors. The kid may not look much like me, with her straight brown hair and greenish eyes, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t have good taste in music. I’m starting her young.
I make the drive across town, listening to Stevie Nicks with the baby on accompaniment, her little feet kicking the rattles hanging from her car seat handle. A few times, she’s even kind of on beat, but most of the time it’s just noise.
When I pull into the driveway, my stomach twists, and I take a few moments to breathe through it, after turning off the car. Not too long, though, because theMamamamachant starts in the back seat, and it’s the kind of chant that tells me that if I don’t move my ass, I’m going to be dealing with a very pissed off ten-month-old.
“Alright, Squirt, I hear ya.” I sigh, hopping out and moving to the back to unbuckle her and lift her out of her seat. I prop her on one hip, sling the diaper bag over my opposite shoulder, then make the walk up the drive to the house.
