Elimination day!

Papa now I know the things you wanted that you could not say
But won’t you just say goodbye it’s Elimination Day

–The Boss of Our House

Yesterday we were woken at 0′ dark-thirty by some tiny bird on our balcony reprising an aria from La Boheme in an octave so piercing that it not only woke us up, but also caused hearing damage in eight dogs on our block and shattered three of our wine glasses. Mama rolled over, muttering something about “kicking his little tweety ass,” as I stumbled out to the living room to close the sliding glass door, thinking this is another reason why I don’t keep a gun in the house.

We were both trying to be as quiet as possible in our protests because 3B was sleeping in our room for the night. No, he’s not suffering separation anxiety like Barky did–OK, like Barky does. Rather, 3B’s room looks like it was visited by Christo since our building has finally gotten around to fixing the holes that I had to drill in our ceiling. Not only are they fixing the holes, but they’re taking out any of the stained or water-damaged drywall board from the ceiling, which means that they took out almost the entire hallway ceiling, and are resurfacing the rest of it. This means that they had to remove the shiny gold wallpaper patchwork that a previous owner had put up there and that we painted over as soon as we moved in. No, I’m not kidding. It’s all gone now, but the effect was something like this, only with the patches overlapping:

We decided that it would be safer for 3B to sleep in his Pack ‘N’ Play in our room rather than like the boy in the bubble or the baby with the babbling heart or Christo’s bastard child in his room, which is why he–3B, not Christo–was in our room in the morning. And after his afternoon nap, 3B was also in our room, trying to tear around as Mama changed his diaper, which was a bit challenging since all of our changing supplies are in the Pont Neuf suite, formerly known as 3B’s room, and all of our breakable, valuable knick-knacks from the living room bookshelves are on the floor in our room.

All of that explains why, midchange, Mama had to set 3B in his Pack ‘N’ Play to run into the Pont Neuf suite. When she came back, 3B was staring intently at the wet spot on the sheet in the P’N’P, apparently wondering where it came from. Yeah, it was no mystery to Mama, naked boy.

Because he knows how much I miss him during the day, and how much I long to be a part of his daily life and experience everything that Mama does, 3B accommodated me last night during his bath by first screaming bloody murder for no apparent reason and climbing up out of the bath and using me as a combination jungle gym and face towel. That got me good and soaked and covered with baby snot, but that was just prelude. Not a minute later, as he stood staring at the faucets, 3B gave a little grunt. Yes, that kind of grunt. But it was just one, and it didn’t last long, so I thought maybe he was just farting. As I had decided that 3B wasn’t dropping the kids off at the pool, the floater bobbed into view from behind him. I snatched him up out of the tub, got him ready for bed, then handed him off to Mama, who nurses him to sleep, and set about sanitizing the tub, the toys, and the bathmat.

I’m well aware that Mother’s Day is coming up, and I’m aware that Memorial Day is approaching, but I had no idea that yesterday was Elimination Day. I can’t tell you how happy I am that I was woken at 0′ dark-thirty by the flippin’ bluebird of happiness announcing it, and that 3B had celebrations planned all day, just so we wouldn’t forget to celebrate.

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  • At least it was a solid and not a liquid.

    Ich. Then you’d need a freakin’ strainer to clean the tub!

  • I think that at that point I would have lit the tub on fire and pitched it off the balcony and gotten a new one.

    Yuck, indeed.

  • Mama makes me laugh….”kicking his little tweety ass”.

    🙂

  • I think the Huntlings only presented bathtime floaters once each…I got lucky. But at this point both Papa and I are muttering to ourselves, “When will we stop having to care about other people’s poop?” The 4 1/2 yo boy is pretty much potty trained during the day, but the 3 yo girl is just barely getting the idea.

    What is the deal with those freakin’ morning birds? Yeah yeah, dawn chorus, springtime, whatever. Don’t they know we gotta sleep around here? Though nothing is as bad as the little bird that lived outside my bedroom window when I was little: cheep…cheep…cheep…cheep. Like some kind of little birdie alarm clock, one note over and over.

  • Bummer for you, Henitsirk. I got mourning doves. Or is that morning doves? Anyway, nice soothing sounds to wake up to.