Cloudya

“Sit down,” Ken says. He takes the baby from my arms - that precious little barnacle that won’t even let me pee in peace.

“Okay,” I say, “I just have to do one thing.”

I turn on the stove to heat up dinner. (The dinner that I made in exaggerated silence while the baby was napping this morning.) I put the blueberry muffins in the Tupperware bin. (The muffins that I made with exaggerated care while the baby was napping this afternoon.) I fold the pile of laundry sitting on the dining room table and put it all away. Then I serve dinner.

“Sit down,” Ken says.

I sit and eat, but “hoovering” would be a better word for what I do. The baby is not a fan of stillness, something Ken doesn’t quite get, so I inhale my meal to the sound of fussing and crying. As soon as I’m done I take the baby and pace with him while Ken eats.

“Sit down,” Ken says, as he takes the baby from me once again. But my phone says its 7:00 so I run the baby’s bath instead. I sing and tell stories while I lather up my little critter. (It’s official, I know all my animal sounds.)

“Go sit down,” Ken says as he takes the baby from me to dry him off, and I fully intend to do as instructed. Right after I clear the dinner dishes and clean up the kitchen. But once I do that the baby is ready for his feeding.

I feed him, nursing him patiently until he nods off, and then hand him off to Ken for burping.

“Sit,” Ken urges.

Except it’s bedtime now. So I give my two guys their goodnight kisses and head off to brush my teeth.

But before I do that, I shove an entire blueberry muffin in my mouth.