The garage door opens, the engine revs and the parents are off without a backward glance.
3:32 pm
The contented mewing sounds from the nursery promptly develop to crying, escalating within seconds to a full-fledged bellow. Ignore. The bellowing becomes a prolonged roar. Minnie, the golden retriever puppy at my feet, flattens her ears and gives me a reproachful look.
3:37 pm
Very loud now. I trot into the nursery and the suffering child immediately shoots both arms straight up in the air with a dimpling, endearing smile. Ah, how sweet. He loves his Mimi. What an adorable grandson. Now to entertain him. No problem.
3:42 pm
Fresh air is the answer. We wrestle with zippers, buttons and those cute white Reeboks with blinking lights on the heels and off we go, Mac seated in the red plastic four wheeled fire truck, me pushing the long handle from behind, much like a lawn mower tinkling with baby toys.
The dog wants to come too but I have to shove her back inside. While I am wrestling with the dog, Mac takes the opportunity to scramble out of the truck and scamper off toward the road, multi coloured lights blinking on his feet.. I race after him, frightened and panting, finally dragging him off the street under much protest.
After a baby-type discussion which mainly consists of child screaming and adult saying phrases like “Isn’t this fun? Look at this”, I concede. Determined child, my grandson. Very focused.
We reach a new agreement. He can push the toy on the asphalt as I walk in front to alert any homeward bound people of the situation. I’m not happy about the middle of the road part and feel slightly embarrassed by the understanding smiles from some drivers, obviously parents themselves, but Mac is thriving, fat legs pumping and face scrunched up in happiness. It gives a whole new meaning to the term Road Trip.
4:19 pm
We come in and I glance at my watch. Only three and a bit hours to go.
After a rousing indoor game of tag with Minnie joining in, I prepare Mac’s dinner.
Chicken fingers, grapes, biscuits and some cheesy stuff, all appealingly arranged on a child’s plate on the bench top, ready for serving.
Now to wrestle with the high tech high chair. Inserting the child in the high chair is not too bad. Putting the tray on, however, takes a lot of fiddling. Which levers to push? Or do I pull? Somehow something snaps into position and finally Mac is settled, tray in place, bib on, face beaming. I turn for his dinner only to find the plate empty and Minnie’s tongue lolling to one side, eyes half closed and, I swear, a contented smile on her face. Damn. I need a cup of coffee, industrial strength.
Inspired, I pour apple juice into the space age baby cup and pop the lid on, securely, I think. Mac reaches for it cheerfully and begins guzzling while I patiently prepare another plate, delivering it immediately to the hungry child, ignoring Minnie. As he picks at the chicken fingers and drops pieces on the floor for the dog, I notice that his sweatshirt is drenched. On closer inspection it is apparent that the apple juice has leaked and Mac is sopping wet. The baby cup is a Pop-and-Screw type.
It takes a fair amount of engineering skill to remove the tray from the high chair but we finally succeed. Off to the nursery for a change. I pull his shirt off and begin rummaging for a dry one in the dresser. I turn to see the dog licking apple juice from Mac’s torso in great slurping swipes of the tongue. Mac stands still and doesn’t seem to notice the body swabbing.
Fine. That eliminates the need for a bath so now it’s pajama time and in a few minutes we’re dressed again.
5:05 pm
Still almost 3 hours before the parents return.
Time for the third viewing of Finding Nemo, an all time favorite of Macs. Except I can’t work the DVD player and Nemo is no longer an option. A channel lap doesn’t produce The Wiggles, cartoons or Tele Tubbies. However, Mac’s attention is captured by a woman on the screen with long dark hair and very large round bare breasts standing in front of a red backdrop of velvet curtains and a gilt edged mirror, swiveling her hips. Surely it is the bright colors that are interesting. So we watch a bit of porno for a while. In fact, for about 23 minutes. The child is riveted and I sit down and put my feet up with a sigh of relief.
5:33 pm
Time for some plastic toys. We empty out the toy box and the clock ticks on while Mac and I make things light up, punch gizmos and turn buttons. It is all great fun but only lasts 9 minutes. How long is a toddler’s attention span? Is this child normal?
I glance at my watch and see that we are past the two hour mark. Encouraged we play tag again but this time with Mac attempting to attack Minnie with a Dirt Devil at the far turn of the lounge room. Minnie is frightened and runs to the door, whining. I put her outside, for her own safety and my sanity. Mac loses interest, drops the Dirt Devil and wanders off.
6: 06 pm
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Despite the temptation to just enjoy the peace I search for my grandson who doesn’t seem quite as angelic now. I find him in the bathroom, merrily splashing water in the toilet, both arms immersed up to shoulders. Despite his objections, I pick him up, dry him off and do the sniff test on the rear. Yes, the Stink Beast needs a diaper change so we proceed to the nursery and to do the thing. Another pair of clean pajamas and I master the art of disposable diapers.
6:33 pm
Under one hour now. I settle Mac on my lap in front of the computer and dodge his attempts to grab my earrings and pull my ear lobe off while the computer boots up. Winnie-the-Pooh appears on the screen in full glory. Every time any key is touched, Winnie does something and talks about honey, birds and balloons and all sorts of kid-friendly stuff. Mac is engrossed. Mac is mesmerized. And I sit very, very still, grateful as a whole 21 minutes slide by.
6:54 pm
Almost there.
Mac wriggles down and stands in front of the TV screen, expectantly. I flip the porno station back on, step carefully over the floor littered with assorted toys and collapse on the couch, struggling to keep my eyes open.
7:23 pm
I don’t hear the garage door open but Mac’s mom appears at the door, his Dad just behind her. I dive for the remote to switch off the TV as Mac grins, stretches out his chubby little arms and toddles across the living room, tripping over a toy telephone, bumping his head on the floor and howling in pain. Adding to the chaos is Minnie who has decided that she has enough of the garden and is barking furiously at the back door to join the fun.
My daughter-in-law scoops Mac up and coos soothing sounds in his ear. He nuzzles into her neck and shoots me a look over his shoulder that can only be described as cheeky, perhaps patronizing or even condescending. This child doesn’t take after my side of the family.
I slink to the kitchen for a glass of red and offer a silent prayer that his parents won’t want to see another movie until he’s in high school. Perhaps I should move to another state.
(c) Evelyn Ciocco 2004.