The First Hour

THE FIRST HOUR

I never knew that baby girls were capable of projectile peeing. The pee lands on the dresser and like mortar fire creeping closer to its target, my favorite hat is in the path of destruction. As I race to remove it from the line of fire, the trajectory changes and I am caught midface by the warm, sticky stream of urine.

“Da Da?” Nora smiles up at me.

“Yes, baby?” With last night’s washcloth, I wipe urine from my beard.

“Momma?” Her baby blues glance towards the door.

“She’s sleeping, sweetheart.”

“No momma.” For the moment, she’s satisfied.

Nora giggles into her hands then smiles up at me.

It’s 5:24 in the morning.

#

My daughter is a morning person.

Nora likes to pull open and close the shower curtain. After I’ve rinsed off the stink and smell from the mortar / urine attack, I spray droplets of water into her face.

She lets the shower curtain fall back into place. Moments later, she’s back.

“Da Da?” She asks.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Beh-wee?” She wants breakfast.

“You want berries?”

“Cah-cah?”

“Crackers, too, huh?”

The curtain falls back into place.

A moment of peace.

Then she’s back.

“Stinky.”

There’s a special little dance Nora does when she’s pooping. It’s coupled with a look of contemplative consternation.

“You got a stinky diaper?”

“Stinky” she confirms.

I shut off the shower and reach for a towel.

It’s 5:38

#

This time I’m careful, covering Nora’s groin with a wet wipe while I change her.

The diaper is filled with a disproportionate amount of feces.

How does this much shit come out of such a tiny body?

Before I can stop her, Nora’s hand is covered in brown, sticky smelly goo.

“Stinky.” She says, quite pleased with herself.

I clean her before any more damage can be done, however, she flips onto her tummy no less than 759 times during the dressing process. Sometime after the seventh flip, it stops being adorable.

“Momma?” She asks once she is dressed.

“Momma’s sleeping, baby girl.”

“No momma?”

“No momma.”

The first thing to go is the lip. It flips down and quivers. The eyes open wide, fill with tears and then slam closed. Her fists clench, her face scrunches in on itself and her mouth grows to cavernous proportions.

“Momma!”

The cry isn’t so much a wail as it is a glass shattering, soul demolishing lamentation.

Sighing, I pick up my daughter and head to the kitchen.

It’s 5:49.

#

The crying stops when I put the banana in her hand.

“Nana?” She inquires.

“Nana.” I agree.

“Mmmmm.”

The dog needs to go out.

The fridge needs groceries.

I need coffee.

Nora goes into her highchair. The dog, out into the back yard

Returning, I cut the berries, fill a small bowl with almond milk and shredded wheat.

I fill the dog’s bowl with kibble and canned food.

As I approach Nora’s highchair, I have her food in my left hand, the dog’s in my right.

I really need coffee. It’s brewing, but not fast enough.

My right-hand places the bowl in front of her. I swivel and reach out my left hand.

Crap. Wrong bowl.

Between the exhaustion and lack of caffeine, my reaction time is surprisingly fast. Before she’s even touched a piece of kibble, I snatch the bowl out from in front of her.

“Whoa.” She’s amused.

I put Nora’s cereal and berries in front of her and she digs in with gusto.

I place the dog’s food in the right place and let her back into the house.

When I return to Nora, squashed fruit and cereal litter the kitchen floor like bodies fallen from a building.

She swings her head to face me, smiles.

“Breh?” She asks.

“You want bread?”

“Breh.” She nods.

It’s 6:07

#

After devouring two pieces of bread and half of the squashed banana, Nora is ready to come down from the highchair.

“Done.” She says holding her hands in front of her. Like her face, they’re covered in bits of food, sticking between fingers and under her nose. Based on the whines and tears, she seems to think the washcloth I am cleaning her with is coated in battery acid.

“Done.” She whines again, making sure to emphasize her displeasure.

In the basement, Nora runs and plays. She’s all noise and energy. She runs around a corner, out of my site.

I take a deep, cleansing breath.

She races towards me, hands waving akimbo, legs pounding the carpeted floor. She stops in front of me, leans her tiny body in close and presses her nose to my face.

“Da Da.” She whispers.

“Yeah, baby girl?”

She blows air through her nose and clumsily kisses my cheek.

She leans back and grins, her few baby teeth showing, her eyes are liquid love.

“Bye.” She says and she’s off again.

It’s 6:24 in the morning.

My coffee is perfect.