So, I’m a rock star. Last night, The Wife went out to a bridal shower for one of our good friends who is getting married in the fall. This marked the first time I would be alone in the house with all three children. Awake, and perilously close to the time of night when it seems like all The Rocket Queen wants to do is nurse. We don’t give her formula, but we DO have some breast milk frozen in the freezer, so if push came to shove, I could defrost it and feed her.
The Wife left while The Boys and I were having dinner with The Rocket Queen in her bouncy seat on the floor watching us. Dinner was relatively uneventful. We played “Name That Tune or Band Singing The Tune.” We started with “Dream On,” which Axl eventually got when they sang the words “Dream On.” Slash got Paradise City pretty much right away. Axl nailed Ring of Fire, though neither boy could come up with Social Distortion. Axl got The Play (Gay) Bar Song, and Slash quessed Home Sweet home. However, the most impressive get of the game was when Slash heard the opening keyboards in the live Woodstock version of “Santa Monica” and shouted out “Samma Monica!” before the opening chords. That reduced Axl to tears.
At some point during the game, The Rocket Queen started to get fussy and cry. The biggest takeaway from the game was that Sweet Caroline started to calm her, but she grinned when I put Kickstart My Heart on. Atta girl!
Anyway, I brought all three kids upstairs so I could give The Boys a bath. The Wife had said that we would give The Rocket Queen a bath when she got home (usually, she gives The Rocket Queen a bath while I’m giving The Boys a bath and then when she’s ready to take The Rocket Queen out, I go in there and hold The Rocket Queen while The Wife gives her a final rinse and then I hand her to The Wife, who’s holding a towel). While I was giving The Boys a bath, The Rocket Queen started to get fussy, which meant one of two things:
1) She had a poop and wanted to be changed; or
2) She wanted to nurse.
Please g-d, let it be one. Let it be one.
So I got The Boys out of the bath as The Rocket Queen’s cries started to reach a new level. Not quite Defcon 5, but approaching it. And of course, Slash wouldn’t just let me put his hooded towel on his head and wrap himself:
Slash: (crinig [crying/whining]) Wrap me Daddy!
Me: No, you can wrap yourself.
Slash: I can’t! Wrap me!
Me: Slash, you’re holding the ends of the towel already. Just wrap yourself.
Slash: (crining) I can’t do it. Wrap me Daddy!
Me (holding a screaming Rocket Queen) Slash, just hug yourself.
Slash: I can’t!
Me: FINE, here (and I half-assedly wrap him).
I walked into The Boys’ room, took out two pull-ups (they had to be matching, of course, little pains in the…), basically threw them at The Boys and told them to put them on:
Slash: Help me Daddy.
Me: Fine, dry yourself and I’ll help you put it on.
Slash: I’m dry.
Me: No, your penis and tushy. Make sure they’re dry.
Slash: They’re dry.
Me: (feeling) No, you’re totally wet, come here.
Slash stands in front of me, standing up straight:
Me: How am I supposed to dry you like that? Come on, help me out here, I need to deal with The Rocket Queen. Spread your legs a little.
Slash does almost a full split to the point that drying him now feels a little obscene. But I get him dry and in a pull-up. Meanwhile, Axl gets himself completely dressed.
So I go to change The Rocket Queen, hoping against all hope that she’s got a poop in there, otherwise it means she wants to nurse. All THAT would mean would be that I’d have to go downstairs, somehow defrost the breast milk (which, admittedly, wouldn’t be rocket science), find a bottle and all the necessary parts, and then hope she takes a bottle for only the second time in her young life. So I open the diaper and…
JACKPOT!
I’ve never been so excited to see a big spot of smelly, green breast-milk poop. She stops crying almost instantly and I decide to give her a bath. I put her back in her rocky chair and get her bath ready on our bathroom sink. I get the bath all set when:
Axl: Daddy, I have to poop.
Me: Ok, go in the other bathroom, but you’ll have to wipe yourself.
Axl: I don’t want to go in that bathroom, I want to go in your bathroom.
Me: Well, you can’t go in here now because I’m giving The Rocket Queen a bath in here (the reason why he couldn’t go in there isn’t because that would be gross, but because I had a bin of water for rinsing her down sitting on top of the closed toilet seat).
Axl: Move the water.
Me: No, I can’t. Just go in the other room and wipe yourself when you’re done. You do it at camp.
Axl: Mumble mumble mumble.
So I’m giving The Rocket Queen a bath, which she usually loves. She’s usually all smiles, but last night, not so much. Slash came in to the bathroom and wanted to watch her bath. He then asked if he could help. Near the end of the bath, when I needed to rinse the soap off of her so I could take her out, I said:
Me: Sure, you can help Slash. Take this cup and pour it over her back.
Slash: (holding the cup very carefully with two hands) I can’t.
Me: What do you mean you can’t? Just pour it on her back.
Slash: I can’t.
Me: (seriously dude? You pour water over yourself and Axl in the bath all the time) Fine. Put the cup down.
Meanwhile, I looked at The Rocket Queen and could see the internal monologue going on in her head:
The Rocket Queen: (Wait a minute. Why are YOU giving me a bath? Where’s Mommy? You don’t do this as well as she does. And when you washed my hair, how come you didn’t do the whole massaging baby oil into my scalp with a toothbrush thing that she does. Hey, Slash, pour the fucking water on my back, I’m cold. Can you believe this clown? Just pour the water. POUR THE WATER. Oh, and how are you going to get me out of the bath, huh? You can’t leave me here for even a second to get the towel, did you ever think of that. Seriously, when’s Mommy getting home? I’m getting hungry…)
Me: Okay, fine Slash. Can you get that towel down from the door?
Slash: Yes.
So he tries to take the towel down from the hook but can’t. So I have him pull the door closed and I’m able to reach it. Despite Slash NOT wanting to help out by holding the towel, I get him to put it down where I can reach it:
Axl: (yelling from the other room) Daddy, I’m done.
Me: Wipe yourself.
Axl: No.
Me: Fine, but you’re going to have to wait a while until I get The Rocket Queen dressed.
I get her out, into a diaper, and into a pair of pajamas. As I finish wiping Axl, The Wife gets home.
Like I said, a rock star. A mutha-effing rock star.
Good times.