The Forty Days

No, not that MJ.  We’re not channeling the dead here, folks.  I’m talking about my thirteen-month-old niece, Maya June.

Betsy and I do not have children.  And although we want to have a monkey or two at some point, we’re unsure of whether we are fully prepared to take that step in the near-future.  I have never assumed full responsibility for a baby or a little child ever before in my life—never had to change a dirty diaper, never had to remove a screaming child from a restaurant or other place of business while enduring nasty looks from the other patrons, and never been thrown up upon (by a child that is—law school is a whole different story).  And I don’t think Betsy has either.

Can Betsy and I successfully take care of a baby for 24 hours?  Are we going to need to call in her parents for reinforcement?  Is this experience going to serve merely as birth control over the next few years until we are really, really, really ready?

Betsy and I fly into her hometown of Gulfport, Mississippi, Friday night to spend Rosh Hashanah with her family.  That’s right—there are Jews in Mississippi (just not that many).  We meet my brother and sister-in law (Ryan and Naomi) and little MJ at morning services at the temple.  MJ is passed out in the back of the sanctuary but wakes up shortly after we arrive, and, oh crap, she already needs her diaper changed.  We take her into an office, and after some initial instructions, pointers, and an instructional video (minus the instructional video), I am ready to change my first diaper ever!  As I lay her down on the changing pad, I bang her head.  Not a good start.  Ryan shows me how to remove her diaper, and fortunately, there is no poo.  Thank you, Lord.  It’s a Rosh Hashanah miracle!  Ryan then hands me a baby wipe.  Do what now?  After I uncomfortably and hesitantly “clean” her, we put on a new diaper, and boom!  Clean baby–for about an hour.  Seriously?

Lunch at Betsy’s aunt’s house is fine.  MJ eats and plays and becomes very, very tired.  But she won’t fall asleep.  She wants to keep playing, begins to stumble around and bump into things, and generally acts like a very tiny drunk person.  She falls asleep on the way back to Betsy’s parents but wakes shortly after we arrive, and I smell something funny.  Please, Lord, on this most holy of days, let it just be a fart.  Betsy and I decide we better check.  Bad times.  I’d rather not go into detail about what I saw or did with it or where I had to clean another human being; needless to say, it was an unpleasant, semi-traumatic experience.  To prevent any more pooping, I secretly slip two Imodium AD into her applesauce.

Everything is smooth sailing until after dinner when the temper tantrums start.  I don’t know if she’s tired, or mad at us, or upset about the status of health care reform, but she is not happy.  When Betsy and I give her a bath, she is screaming so loudly that the neighbors think that we are waterboarding her.

Am I laughing in this picture?  I assure you, it’s nervous laughter.

We eventually put MJ to sleep and fall asleep ourselves, only to be woken up by a tiny, screaming bundle of joy at 3:30 am.  Hell hath no fury like a screaming child at ungodly hours of the night.  Half asleep, we change her, feed her a bottle a milk, and pray to the god of all things good that she will go back to sleep, which occurs at around 4 am.  Thank you, Lord!–I promise to pay extra-special attention during services today.

In the morning, we feed her, play with her some more, and get her ready to give back to her real mom and dad!  Yay!!  Oh, and for good measure, she goes boom-boom in her diaper one last time.

By the time we give little MJ back to her mommy, we are exhausted.  We were actually supposed to take care of both MJ and her two and one half year old brother, Mason, but at the last minute, he came down with Strep Throat.  I think I am grateful.  Is that wrong?

So I guess the big question on everyone’s minds (especially our parents’) is whether Betsy and I are ready for a little monkey.  Well . . . although I focused my writing on the more challenging aspects of the day, Betsy and I sincerely enjoyed spending some extended time with our baby niece.  We played, we danced, and we formed a bond with her that had not previously existed.  So I suppose we could probably handle a little person without dropping it repeatedly on its head or allowing it to eat substantial amounts of paint chips, but we ain’t in no hurry.  Oh, yeah, and we formed true respect for all those parents out there and ours in particular.  Props!  Until next time . . .