Wednesday, September 19, 2012

what time is it?

What time is it?  Its night.  There is no light in the windows.  I am still somewhere down deep in the cave of sleep, but its irritating.  Something is annoying me.  Its grating-crying.  Shrillness.  Baby cry.  Its Khaliya crying, a slow drone at steady intervals, over and over and over.  I keep my eyes closed and wishfully hope against probability that she will roll over and go back to sleep.  The drone grows into a forceful growl in blasts that become more erratic.  No.  She's going to wake Satya up if I don't do something.  Where's Gaibi?  She's not here, she must have gone into Isaiah's room.  He must have had a bad dream, something about monsters or the bad guys from Kung Fu Panda or a Disney movie, his terrified cry piercing the dark, "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaa-maaaaaaaaaa!!!!!"  Get up, you have to get up and do something.  So much better to satiate one baby than try to wrangle two at once.  I sit up in bed and can just make out the outline of Khaliya, now standing up at the side of the bed, her little muppet face now blowing anguish at close range.  I run my fingers over her tiny, warm, melon-shaped head.  I can feel it vibrating with her cries. Shhhhh, quiet baby.  Shush now.  She lays her head down on the side of the bed and slows to a slightly softer wail.  Just as I decide to get up and warm a bottle, Gaibi bursts through the door.  There is exasperation on her face.
"Kaimani pooped all over Isaiah's room."
"What?"
"It smells terrible."
"Again?"
"Yes."
"On the floor or-"
"On the rugs."
"Shit."
"I know."
She is holding a bottle of bleach spray.  What time is it?  There is still not a trace of light in the windows.  I shut the bedroom door, leaving Khaliya with Gaibi and walk past the bedroom where she has picked up much of the poo but the smell is still overpowering.  Downstairs I pour two bottles of formula and put them in a pan on the stove to heat them up.  I lean on the counter with my hand and let my mind sink into the sounds of the night; the loud hum of the fridge, the insects outside.  Check the formula with my finger-still cold.  I fill a glass with water from the sink and drink the whole thing.  Check the formula, oh no its almost too hot!  I quickly pour it out from the pan into two bottles, spilling what looks like half but fills both bottles most of the way.  When I come upstairs, blowing into the bottles to cool them to optimum temperature, Gaibi is sitting on the floor nursing two babies simultaneously.  As is the norm for this time of the morning, I ask obvious questions.
"Did Satya wake up, too?"
"Yes."
"I knew that would happen so I made two bottles."
"Awesome."
I hand Gaibi one bottle and get down on all fours, arranging Satya so that I can plug the end of the bottle into her mouth while resting somewhat on my side.  After jolting back to consciousness for the third time, Gaibi graciously asks why don't I just go to bed and she can do both bottles.
"Are you sure?"
She says its fine, honey, go to bed.  I do.  What the hell time is it?  I lay my head on the cold pillow, on the bed which is also cold because we've both been out of it for so long, and drift downward into a sleep which I never fully left.

But there it is again, the screaming!  This time its Satya, a back-arching, larynx-shredding, baby-lion roar, then followed by the mother lion growl as Gaibi throws back the bed sheets in a dramatic flourish.  In my half-dream state I imagine it like one of those Caravaggio paintings, a scorned queen throwing over a table or tearing down the curtains.  I sit up with eyes half-closed, watching as Gaibi, blustering, positions herself between the two girls on the floor mattresses.  I ask if she needs anything.  What could she possibly need?  There are two babies, she is equipped to feed both of them at the same time if need be, what could I get for her at this hour when there is but a bit of light in the darkened windows? No, she says sweetly, and i lay back down and sleep.

"Ga ga ga ga ga ga ga ga!!!"
What's that knocking sound?  Oh its morning now, the sun is just coming into our bedroom window.
"Ga ga ga ga ga ga ga ga!!!"
Oh, its Khaliya, and she's slamming something on the ground.  What is it?  It doesn't sound like a wood block, it sounds like plastic.  I push back the sheets and look over the edge of the bed.  She is planted with feet in front of her, smashing my phone into the wood floor repeatedly while loudly chanting, "Ga ga ga ga ga ga ga ga!!!"
Khaliya Khaliya don't do that.  No baby, don't do that, here, give me, give me that.  Yes, no.  yes, its mine!  No, its mine!  I know you really really want it but-I know you want it!  Here, here have this bottle of baby cream.  Yeah, there you go.  That's cool, huh? Ok.  Crisis averted, for now.

I look back five minutes later to discover that she has somehow opened the cream, has covered her legs in it, and is eating it.  The sun is up.





No comments:

Post a Comment