Since becoming a mother two years ago my bathing standards have greatly diminished. Whereas I once took a shower every single morning, and leisurely washed ALL the parts, I am now on the every-third-day schedule, and I find that I have to make strategic choices about what gets shaved, and whether or not I have time to pumice.
Well, this morning was no different. Sweet 7-week-old Rose fell asleep around 9:30 am, and darling 2-year-old Eleanor was playing quietly for a few moments at the same time - amazing. So I ran my fingers through my greasy hair and asked Eleanor if she would mind bringing her "people" into the bathroom so that I could take a quick shower. Immediately this jarred Eleanor out of her quiet playtime and made her realize that she NEEDED MOMMY MOKE. This - to adults would be pronounced Mommy MILK. In other words it would be called nursing. Arg. Why Why Why did I ever teach her to call it Mommy Milk? Well, of course, it's because I thought she would get confused with cow's milk. Duh.
Nevertheless, the phrase has begun to drive me crazy. Ever since her little sister was born Eleanor DEMANDS Mommy Moke every couple of hours. And if I try to distract her, or give her something else (a hug, a story, something else to eat or drink), she just keeps it up. Mommy Moke, Mommy Moke, Mommy MOKE. Like chinese water torture, she says it over and over and over.
So, anyway, I thought it would be nice to take a shower.
I turned on the water. "Mommy Moke!"
"I'm going to take a shower Eleanor, we can have Mommy Milk later"
I got in the shower. "Mommy Moke!"
"Not now Eleanor, I'm in the shower."
I tried soaping up. "Mommy Moke!"
"Not NOW Eleanor, I'm IN the SHOWER. I will be right OUT!"
Then she changed tactics - "Mommy pick you up!" (she hasn't gotten her pronouns straight yet)
"How can I pick you up, Eleanor, I'm in the shower?!"
"Mommy MOKE!"
So, here is where I chose Pits over Legs, and decide to forgo pumice entirely.
"Mommy MOKE!"
"Eleanor, I am almost done. I will be out in a minute, PLEASE wait."
So, I was trying to get the last bubbles of soap out of my ears when all of a sudden I heard this piercing beeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
"WHAT the hell?!"
I looked out of the shower to see Eleanor's eyes all wide and worried, with the door to the bathroom wide open, and the smoke detector wailing on and off. I realized immediately that it was the steam from the bathroom, not smoke. But that didn't make me move any slower. I leapt out of the shower, dripping wet, grabbed a chair from the kitchen, ran down the hall towards the violent noise, closed the door of the bedroom where little Rose was fast asleep, jumped up on the chair and wrenched the machine off the ceiling. At this point I realized that the blinds to the living room windows were wide open and I was standing on the chair naked and wet. So, I jumped down, ran back to the bathroom where Eleanor was waiting, again with wide eyes and her hands over her ears.
"Mommy, dat?"
"That was the smoke detector, Eleanor. It was very loud. It makes that sound when the bathroom gets very hot and the hot air goes up to the ceiling." (How do I explain this???)
Then, out of the blue, I decided to give Eleanor a safety lesson well beyond her years.
"Eleanor, if you are in the house and mommy and daddy aren't here and you hear the smoke detector make this noise... (why am I trying to explain this to her, she's only two) you must try to get out of the house... because... (here is where I see her eyes glazing over) there could be... a... (I've totally lost her now) fire..." I trailed off realizing that I had failed to keep it simple, and then realized that I still hadn't wrapped a towel around myself, and then realized that her eyes weren't even looking at my face. They were fixated on...
"MOMMY MOKE."
"FINE."
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