The Popsicle

The day started out well. There was a morning dance party to Gaga (Evvy's favorite is "Edge") and of course Beyonce's "Single Ladies" (her hand doing the "If You Like It Then You Better Put A Ring On It" part is priceless) and then there was the homemade smoothie, reading some stories, the baby eating three pieces of paper (one a residual check from How I Met Your Mother) a walk around the neighborhood yada yada yada...but then this heat took over and we were all zombies. So we had popsicles. And then it was nap time. And at some point during nap time Meesh left the house to go to some meetings.

The baby woke up. So cute until she ate a stray piece of a rug. I pulled it out of her mouth and she was cute again.

Then Evvy woke up. I went to get her and she looked at me and basically said "YOU ARE NOT MOMMY. GET THE FUCK OUT MY ROOM!" (this is how it goes these days. if Mommy doesn't get her from her crib then ain't nobody gettin' her from no crib)

I try everything: we can play "purple tea" or "go to the park" or "have a playdate." NOTHING. Well, not nothing, an indescribable, tone i've never heard anywhere else, cry/scream...sort of a low octave but extraordinarily torturous. Then I pull out the big guns: Beg and Plead. Nothing. I say "I'm going to leave your bedroom so just call for me when you want to come out of your crib."

The wailing goes on for 48 minutes. And the baby, who has taken to twinning her big sister, can't keep it together. I go in and ask her to please come out of the crib. I promise she will have the best time ever if she does. MORE WAILING. Mommmmmmyyyyy, Mommmmyyyyy....

Finally I hear silence. Then I hear "Daddy. Dada. Dad." I go in to her room. "I get out of the crib." I smile. I reach for her. "But I have a popsicle." Uh-oh. I say "Ev, we already had popsicles today." The screaming starts again. She cries one long "Mommy" that seemed to last a proper fortnight. I say "I can't do this anymore. You can have a pop." Cold turkey the crying stops and she laughs "thank you. uppy. uppy." She reaches for me and we leave her room.

I get her a popsicle. She sits at the table to eat it. All is well in our world. Meesh walks in from her meetings. "You gave her another popsicle?" I explain: "I had to. You don't understand. If I didn't then I may have left the house...like left without the children and..." Meesh says: "But you giving her another pop means she has the upper..." I say: "She can have the upper, the lower. She can have my hands. I can cut off my hands for her. I...I...I..." I walked out of the house and stood on the front lawn and wondered what it would be like to be in a space shuttle.