I should probably do this post as a list, but I think I'm too tired to count, which is probably why I'm blogging instead of knitting, so I'll just do it as a sort of stream-of-consciousness post instead. You all with me on this one? Good good.
So, day what is it? Fourteen? of Diaper-Free Barak went pretty well. Two misses of the not-as-serious variety, both in his crib. Nothing on the floor. Friday was also great. Shabbos we're not even going to talk about. Barak is very clear on all the concepts and is gradually getting the idea that pooping is a pretty easy way to get ice cream. He has also, unfortunately, fully grasped the idea that if he wants to get out of his crib, calling "Abba! Potty!" is a spectacularly effective method. Might I add that to date, NONE of these late-night potty excursions has resulted in anything but parental sleep deprivation? No, that's probably not necessary.
Shabbos evening was a little bit stressful, in the way that doughnuts are a little bit fattening and Big Macs are a little bit treif. I won't get into details, except to present to you the observation that arguing with mikva ladies is like unto arguing with airline security. I will leave that one right there, thank you.
Iyyar is nursing apace. Unlike Barak at this age, he is very happy in the sling and will cheerily watch the world from his perch. However, the good sleep is but a memory, because he's currently one of the gassiest babies on earth. It's so sad--he'll be happily looking around and then all of a sudden his face will crumple, his mouth will open wide and he will start to shriek at an phenomenal volume that seems literally to split the eardrums and instantly renders any conversation completely out of the question. Despite the magical elixir, which usually solves these problems with impressive speed, tonight he just screamed and screamed, while Barak took two hours to go to sleep and... yeah, well. B"H we have two kids with good lungs.
This week MHH is doing a full-day, all-week teacher training program that will have me home with a gassy 7-week-old and a toilet-training 2-year-old all on my own from 6 am (it's that minyan thing) till 6 pm. Oof. If it weren't for the toilet training (what was I thinking? what what what? oh, I know what I was thinking, but why was I thinking it?) it would be a lot easier. But as it is... umm. What I want to know is how women with many more kids than I have keep tidy houses, cook three meals a day, and have everyone clean and fed more or less all the time. Last night as we were going to bed I asked MHH what he'd given Barak for dinner (I'd been busy with the baby). He said, I thought you gave him dinner. I hadn't. We reviewed the evening and realized that the last thing he'd had to eat before bedtime was--you guessed it--ice cream, reward for pooping in the potty.
Sigh.
And I just heard a little voice calling, "Imma... Imma... potty..."
It's 9:32.
Where were we?
Oh yes. He's still in there listening to volume II of Torah Island. Has anyone else noticed the completely circular logic of the Happiness Song, or the fact that Uncle Moishy NEVER EXPLAINS the meaning of his dream, or the complete randomness of most of the songs? I mean, what does Succos have to do with how great it is to keep kosher? I ask you.
Well, at least I did cook dinner tonight, and was domestically admirable in that between me and MHH, we took three trips to the recently-bought-out drugstore that sells the store brand of diapers I like, since they are now labeled with the defunct store name and therefore half price. We now have about 500 diapers in sizes 2 and 3 stocked up for Iyyar's future diaper needs, heading to the storage space in the basement, which I am absolutely itching to organize but who am I kidding, when am I going to have the time? I haven't even written my thank-you notes yet. Oh, and we also got another industrial-sized vat of laundry detergent, because, well, we go through a lot of that these days.
[stares blearily at wall behind computer screen]
So, what do I do now? Do I wash the dishes from dinner, take a shower, or knit a little on my sock? Fold another load of laundry? I can't go to bed, because MHH is at minyan and I can never fall asleep till he gets home so that's pointless.
Barak is in his crib singing The Wheels on the Bus. Apparently he's up to "the people on the bus go up and down," because I just heard, "Up ee down? 'kay? kay."
Oh, and I didn't mention the garbage truck. On Friday while he was having breakfast I heard the garbage truck, so I grabbed him and we sat on the back steps watching it. The driver saw us and waved and beeped his horn, and Barak just stared at him gaping. When the truck drove on, he waved bye-bye with me. Then he turned to me and, struggling with his shock and awe, said, "Garbage. Garbage truck. Garbage innair [in there.]"
Pause.
"They put garbage innair!"
Indeed they do.
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