Saturday, June 21, 2008

This and That

Zoe does not like any fiddling above her neck, which is why she loses hats. She screams when we wash her face or hair. She twists like a contortionist when I try to put in a barrette or simply try to push her hair out of her eyes. You’d think I was using sandpaper when I wipe her nose with a tissue. And she acts like I am spreading acid on her when I dab her cute little nose with sunscreen. Since I know I am not getting good coverage with the sunscreen, I insist that she wear a hat. Well, she doesn’t like hats either and will almost always fling hers off at some point. She has also has decided that she does not like to recline in her jogging stroller so I allow her to perch up on the edge of the seat (which in turn covers the warning not to do that). But sitting up like that I can’t strap her in (hence the warning). I also can’t close the sunshade because it would hit her in the head and—more importantly—it would block my view of her. Since she periodically decides she is going to climb out while we are rolling down the street I really need to be able to see her. Long story short, I require that she wear her hat if she wants to sit up (as if she listens to reason). However, she has a little David Blaine in her and no matter how closely I’m watching she can make that hat disappear. There goes another hat.

I used to require privacy when I used the bathroom. I believe that as a species we have advanced beyond the indignities of performing our business in front of whomever is walking or standing by at that particular moment, except at major sporting events, where urinating into a trough alongside a dozen other men stands alongside beer and hotdogs as part of the experience. However, at home I still like a closed door. Zoe, however, does not like to be left alone and does not like closed doors (and would probably dismantle the linen closet if I left her alone for thirty seconds). So she joins me and tries her hardest to distract me from the business at hand [sic]. If I am standing she likes to watch the flow, and sometimes wants to see what it feels like, so I twist and turn and use my knees to block her. Or she decides to slam the lid down, or try a quick feint around my back to unroll the toilet paper. And there is always the question about what happens to bath toys when they are thrown in. If I am sitting the game is to see how many bath toys will fit into my lowered drawers, and it’s still fun to unwind the toilet paper, and try to close the lid, which just whacks against my back. Oh, and she’s learning how to flush, so why not just do that a dozen times. When Alison gets home I’ll sometimes disappear into the bathroom for a little while. I’m just enjoying the solitude.

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