Part of me is wondering, is this how this sort of thing starts? If so, the blame, for once, bounces firmly over in Tracey’s side of the court.
“Daddy!” said Miss3. I didn’t realize it at this point, but she’d clearly been nominated as spokesperson for my three middle girls because she’s at that super cute age. When I didn’t budge she cutely slapped me hard on the side of the face. “Dad. Wake up!”
I opened my eyes. There were three of them staring down at me – Miss3. Miss5 and Miss9. It seems they’d marched up to where I languished on the lounge like a lynch mob, only the pitchforks and flaming torches were missing.
“Box,” said Miss3.
‘Guys, I sleeping here,” I said, although I’m pretty sure they knew that so I don’t know why I expected saying it to make any difference.
In point of fact, I wasn’t sleeping. Oh, no. I was watching the kids while my wife slept. She’d kicked me out of our bed half an hour ago, where I’ve been sleeping for the last two days trying to get over a bug. As Miss1 has also had the bug my good wife has been up much of the last two nights soothing her.
When I didn’t immediately move to satisfy Miss3’s long list of demands, she repeated them.
“Box!”
“What?” I wanted to know. I looked at Miss5, but quickly dismissed asking her. She has the exact opposite communication problem to Miss3. Miss5 can take two minutes to ask for something, often getting lost along the way. Miss9 was my only hope. “What do you guys want?”
“Can you pull a box down for us?” she asked me.
“No. I’m asleep.” I shut my eyes, careful to drape my arm over my face so it wasn’t an easy target for Miss3.
“Okay. Sorry Daddy. We’ll ask Mummy.”
“Hold on,” I said. I sat up and looked at them. “If I get this box down for you, are you going to leave me in peace for a bit?”
Miss9 and Miss5 nodded. Miss3 just looked like she’d like to slap me upside the head again.
When I brought the box down I was surprised how little was in it. A Woody doll (still with hat because we’ve seem the second movie and so know they’ll be worth more to future, unscrupulous collectors), two baby dolls and a FiFi doll. They took one baby doll, which also surprised me because usually they’d tip the whole lot out on the floor to ‘play’ with, and left the room.
Which was great because I worried the lounge was feeling neglected.
Before I stumbled back into the lounge room and was confronted with a horrible smell coming from the cot.
“Shit,” I said, realization dawning that my nap was to be permanently put on hold this afternoon. Miss1 had dropped another buggy poo in her nappy. It’s funny, I’m sick and can barely keep my eyes open. She’s sick and between vomiting and squirting laughs and smiles and carries on like there isn’t a problem. One year old and she’s already tougher than her old man.
As I changed her and treated the rash she’s developed because it’s all so acidy I noticed one or the other of the girls walking past me to the kitchen for a drink of water.
After the fifth cup of water I became suspicious.
“What’s going on?” I asked Miss5.
“We’re playing with the dolly,” she answered me. Succinctly too, for her. But then she was itching to get back out that door with her cup of water.
I pointed to the cup. “Why are you all drinking so much water all of a sudden?”
“We’re not,” she said. “The dolly is. And then she wee’s it out!”
Ah, now I understood. And this is why this could potentially all be Tracey’s fault, because this was that doll we had to have a few years ago – the Baby Alive. This was the one I was overruled on because I was a guy and didn’t understand girls and dolls. Like I didn’t own a Bionic Man action figure when I was growing up.
Still, even with Miss5’s explanation, something was bugging me about the little trouble maker in front of me.
“So why is your hair wet?”
“Because she wee’d on my head!” Miss5 beamed.
When I walked outside, the balcony, the table and all the girls’ heads were soaking wet above guilty grins.
Between chuckles and turning the whole thing into a water fight I told myself I was over thinking it. Fetishes don’t start like this. But if so, I’m pointing the finger at Tracey. It’s about time she got the blame for something around here because my dance card is full.
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