Ah, evenings. Dinner’s done; I can hear mommy’s meal percolating away, digesting nicely… wonderful white noise to accompany my evening nap, while she sits and does whatever quiet thing she does all evening. Then she will lay down for her own sleep, at which time I will be refreshed, full of energy and ready for my strict regimen of isometric stretching and tae-bo. (I don’t care whether it’s passé or not, it makes me feel good!)
Hmm. This is a little different. She’s talking—that’s not unusual, but I don’t recognize the other voice. It’s a woman, and she sounds very excited about something. And they’re walking somewhere together. Oh, now they’re sitting. Well, maybe they’ve just gone for coffee and are going to chat with one another for a little while. Nothing to worry abou—
WHAT THE BLAZES IS THAT?!?!?!?
It’s like the whole world is coming to an end! Oh, the noise! Where are the pleasant dinner bubbles? All I hear is this incessant pounding, and somebody singing. More like screeching. What the… now mommy’s singing. No, yelling! “Oh… you… look… so… beautiful tonight!” Whatever. I will never understand adults.
And now she’s jiggling around like crazy. Normally that would put me to sleep, but there’s no fetus on the planet that would be able to sleep with all this caterwauling going on.
And it just keeps going! And—wait. Did she just say “Woooo!” DID MY MOTHER JUST SAY “WOOOOOO!” If I weren’t the only one in here I think I would die of embarrassment. Honestly, do parents serve any purpose other than to mortify their children? Methinks the answer is a resounding no.
…Gosh, she’s been standing for a long time. When is she going to sit? I want to change positions. Maybe if I rap on her ribs a little bit… there! That’s better—no, still standing. Sigh.
…Ah, finally we sit! Time to shift around. There. Ah, the infernal racket’s gotten a little quieter too, but now it’s very hot in here. She also seems a little out of breath from all the singing and jiggling. Yes mommy, you have me to thank for the diminished lung capacity! Me! Remember me? Whose evening you’re ruining with this noise? Isn’t this how they torture prisoners to get them to talk? Well I don’t have any state secrets! I’m negative-nine weeks old, after all!
Gah! Back up again! And now her bladder’s really full! Well surely she’ll go to the bathroom soon, and ah, ‘twill be quiet bliss.
…Hmm, I can’t help but notice she’s not going. I mean, it’s really full, and it’s cramping my style, what IS her problem? Why would she choose all this blaring noise over a nice long pee? Oh my goodness, is she being held here against her will? Hey! Let my mommy go, you bad singing man!
Wait, now she’s singing again. I guess she’s OK then. “How long to sing this song… how long to sing this song…” Yeah woman, that’s what I want to know.
Ah, free at last. Walking. More sitting. Still no peeing. We’re on a train, lots of stops and starts. Now a car. Now, home. The bathroom. Then, finally, sitting in a comfortable chair.
And this sound I know—the faint sound of tap-tap-tapping and click-click-clicking. Now that’s an evening sound I’m used to!
Whew!
16 Responses to “if the reverendbaby could talk”
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Asides
» I have been remiss in posting SBJ’s latest stats: 23 pounds and 27 inches at six months. Yes, I’ve got the big mama biceps.
» Aaaaaand little she-who-is lost another tooth this week!
» SBJ is four months old, 19 pounds 5 ounces, and 26 inches tall. GIGANTOR!
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Hope you enjoyed the concert! And Reverend Baby will have plenty of chances for payback I suspect.
Rock on Baby, rock on.
That’s hilarious!
Bad singing man! Bad!
WOOOOOO!
Very clever!!
By the way–you DO have some Texas dirt with you that can be placed under the delivery table so that reverendbaby is not deprived of her birthright, don’t you? If not, I’ll send some.
Clever post indeed. I say “send the dirt” so that kid can be born on Texas soil.
So the U2 concert was THAT good, eh? I’m intensely jealous. And did you see the picture of Bono this morning in the paper with the Leader of the Free World, a la Elvis with Nixon? Oh, to have been a fly on the wall.
And don’t you know W pronounced his name BOE-noe.
Grace, I would be honored.
Okay, RM–email the mailing address to jody dot harrington at gmail dot com and a ziplock bag of Texas soil is on its way.
My great-grandmother sent Virginia soil to my grandmother when she was going to give birth to my mother in San Diego. It’s such a sweet thing.
Oh…if I weren’t rather fond of you I would currently dislike you cordially
Has everyone else on the planet who wanted to got to hear U2 this time round??? My kids are still rubbing it in that they went on the first night of my ordination retreat. Tell reverendbaby how lucky they are….
although i’ve always lived in va. and our 3 kids were all born here, i do have a “dirt” story. when our extended family—my dad, 2 uncles, and my grandfather had to sell out their farm operations because va beach taxed farm land at the same rate as residential land back in the 60’s, one of my cousins collected bags of “good earth” from the farm and gave each family a bag. i am the keeper of the “good earth” from my branch of the family tree.
How wonderful for you! And for reverend baby too…you could put the concert ticket in his/her scrapbook!
Great post
terrific post
mad with envy!!
lucky baby, lucky RM