After a crazy couple of weeks worrying about work-related stuff I can finally concentrate on really important things again, like making sure I take enough videos of my kids. This is key because they are pretty cute these days.
The basic dynamic is that the Noodle descends closely upon the baby like a swarm of giggling locusts, cooing and patting and poking her in the face. Because she is still just a tube-monkey, the baby's only natural defense in the face of obvious danger is to be adorable. Thus just as the horned toad squirts blood into the eyes of desert badgers (we don't employ fact-checkers around here), the Mini Muffin, unable to roll over or accurately manoeuvre her tiny, balled-up hands, frantically smiles at her sister. It usually works in the sense that she is still alive.
The Noodle (having turned all her angst against her increasingly desperate parents) loves the baby, but it's not a problem because babies are remarkably resilient. I was sure you couldn't bend such tiny arms that way without causing lasting harm, but apparently its fine. Also you can give a newborn an "indian burn" of love (in typing this I just realized that I spent my whole childhood saying this vaguely racist thing...what do the kids these days call it?) and she'll just spit up.
But Noodle's very favourite part about the baby, it seems, is watching me change her diaper. It combines her two favourite things: rituals and poop.
This morning, for example. (By the way, these days Noodle usually uses just one modal verb of her own invention, "moo-de", regardless of language, meaning or tense. It comes from the German "muss" but really applies everywhere, I moo-de tell you.)
"Noodle, get your boots on while I get your sister dressed. We have to go," I said, laying the baby down on the changing table.
"I'm coming, baby!" said the Noodle. There are shuffling sounds in the other room. She rounds the corner somehow holding a piece of paper, a key chain, a toy stethoscope, a stuffed animal and a tangerine. No shoes.
"Noodle, no more playing. You have to get to kindergarten. St. Nicholas is coming today! Get your shoes on please while I change the baby's diaper..."
Sharp, exaggerated, excited intake of breath. A dropping of many objects at the same time. "Diaper?" says the Noodle. "I moo-de see the diaper!"
"But your shoes..." I say, helplessly, as the Noodle drags her little chair across the living room and next to the changing table.
"I want to see the kaka," says Noodle, climbing up beside me. "A really BIG one."
"No, you need to..." I start to say, again. Then I remember my parenting mantra ("Do you really care?"), rub my face with my hands and give up.
"Do you think it will be REALLY BIG?" I ask. "Like, SO big?"
Noodle's eyes widen. "Let's check," she says conspiratorially as I peel away the baby's diaper.
Which does not disappoint.
"Mommy it is blueberries and blackberries and blueberries and haha!" says Noodle. I have no idea what the hell she is talking about.
"Hee hee," says Noodle. She doesn't laugh; she says "hee hee." Then she says, "Hee hee poo poo...and the blackberries and the strawberries and the blue ones."
What.
"You're so calm," I say to the baby, cleaning her up as quickly as possible. "I like it! Let's get a fresh diaper on you."
"Glulck," says the baby, sucking her fist.
"A fresh diiiiiaper, baby?" says the Noodle, who is, perhaps, just a tad frightening. "For the poo poo, mommy? The poo poo kaka? And the pee pee? Hee hee hee hee."
I fold up the used diaper and throw it away.
"No!" says Noodle. "I want to see it! I moo-de see the kaka. The really BIG one the...the blueberries blackberries and the, and the...I need to go buy fruits and vegetables! From the supermarket, mommy."
"You do?" I ask.
"Oh yes. One minute, mommy, I moo-de buy the...we moo-de...And the big one. And the big one from the supermarket. Yes, mommy? Not the kaka diapers. The other one. The really BIG one."
If a two year-old lost her mind, how would you know?
"...And the blueberries and blackberries and a...a mango. I want a mango, mommy. A mango. And rice crackers. Now, mommy. Please mommy. Mango, mommy. Cheese, mommy. Not diapers, Tali. Don't worry baby. Rice crackers. Bread. Bread, mommy. Bread. Please. With marmelade. A big one. A REALLY BIG ONE."
I'm beginning to get the picture. "Um, are you hungry?"
"YES, Mommy," she says, suddenly looking very pitiful indeed. "I SO HUNGRY MOMMY. I want bread."
"Well, your breakfast is waiting at kindergarten so get your boots on and I will get you some bread for the way."
"Hooray! Don't worry, Tali, there is breakfast at kindergarten! I moo-de GO!"
"Glulck," says the baby.
And off we go, because we moo-de.
The Noodle (having turned all her angst against her increasingly desperate parents) loves the baby, but it's not a problem because babies are remarkably resilient. I was sure you couldn't bend such tiny arms that way without causing lasting harm, but apparently its fine. Also you can give a newborn an "indian burn" of love (in typing this I just realized that I spent my whole childhood saying this vaguely racist thing...what do the kids these days call it?) and she'll just spit up.
But Noodle's very favourite part about the baby, it seems, is watching me change her diaper. It combines her two favourite things: rituals and poop.
This morning, for example. (By the way, these days Noodle usually uses just one modal verb of her own invention, "moo-de", regardless of language, meaning or tense. It comes from the German "muss" but really applies everywhere, I moo-de tell you.)
"Noodle, get your boots on while I get your sister dressed. We have to go," I said, laying the baby down on the changing table.
"I'm coming, baby!" said the Noodle. There are shuffling sounds in the other room. She rounds the corner somehow holding a piece of paper, a key chain, a toy stethoscope, a stuffed animal and a tangerine. No shoes.
"Noodle, no more playing. You have to get to kindergarten. St. Nicholas is coming today! Get your shoes on please while I change the baby's diaper..."
Sharp, exaggerated, excited intake of breath. A dropping of many objects at the same time. "Diaper?" says the Noodle. "I moo-de see the diaper!"
"But your shoes..." I say, helplessly, as the Noodle drags her little chair across the living room and next to the changing table.
"I want to see the kaka," says Noodle, climbing up beside me. "A really BIG one."
"No, you need to..." I start to say, again. Then I remember my parenting mantra ("Do you really care?"), rub my face with my hands and give up.
"Do you think it will be REALLY BIG?" I ask. "Like, SO big?"
Noodle's eyes widen. "Let's check," she says conspiratorially as I peel away the baby's diaper.
Which does not disappoint.
"Mommy it is blueberries and blackberries and blueberries and haha!" says Noodle. I have no idea what the hell she is talking about.
"Hee hee," says Noodle. She doesn't laugh; she says "hee hee." Then she says, "Hee hee poo poo...and the blackberries and the strawberries and the blue ones."
What.
"You're so calm," I say to the baby, cleaning her up as quickly as possible. "I like it! Let's get a fresh diaper on you."
"Glulck," says the baby, sucking her fist.
"A fresh diiiiiaper, baby?" says the Noodle, who is, perhaps, just a tad frightening. "For the poo poo, mommy? The poo poo kaka? And the pee pee? Hee hee hee hee."
I fold up the used diaper and throw it away.
"No!" says Noodle. "I want to see it! I moo-de see the kaka. The really BIG one the...the blueberries blackberries and the, and the...I need to go buy fruits and vegetables! From the supermarket, mommy."
"You do?" I ask.
"Oh yes. One minute, mommy, I moo-de buy the...we moo-de...And the big one. And the big one from the supermarket. Yes, mommy? Not the kaka diapers. The other one. The really BIG one."
If a two year-old lost her mind, how would you know?
"...And the blueberries and blackberries and a...a mango. I want a mango, mommy. A mango. And rice crackers. Now, mommy. Please mommy. Mango, mommy. Cheese, mommy. Not diapers, Tali. Don't worry baby. Rice crackers. Bread. Bread, mommy. Bread. Please. With marmelade. A big one. A REALLY BIG ONE."
I'm beginning to get the picture. "Um, are you hungry?"
"YES, Mommy," she says, suddenly looking very pitiful indeed. "I SO HUNGRY MOMMY. I want bread."
"Well, your breakfast is waiting at kindergarten so get your boots on and I will get you some bread for the way."
"Hooray! Don't worry, Tali, there is breakfast at kindergarten! I moo-de GO!"
"Glulck," says the baby.
And off we go, because we moo-de.
