Dad, If you were here…

If you were here…
I would tell you that I was thinking about our trip to Ireland. We took E there when she was just six months old. Oddly enough, I got to thinking about it today while I was feeding her little sister, Wiglet. I was feeding Wiglet baby food, puréed carrots. I thought of our trip while changing her diaper. It was horrible. Both girls’ diapers got exponentially more disgusting when they started eating solids. Their wriggling only made it messier.

It seems like we spent most of our trip to Ireland seeking out baby food, changing diapers and washing her clothes. What was it about the angle of the car seat? E’s poop seemed to defy gravity. I remember pulling off the road at a gas station in the Irish countryside. We were both nauseous from the winding roads. I thought you were going to lose your lunch when I started changing E’s diaper in the back seat. I remember being angry at your nauseous cough because you had the luxury of being in the front seat. You would not even touch the diaper to throw it away.

And then half way through the trip, you had stomach problems. You would not tell me the details, but we needed to find a pharmacy open on a Saturday. For once, I was glad for your stoicism. But I had to help you translate. What you did manage to hear from the diminutive female pharmacist you could not understand. You later asked me if she was speaking English.

It was nothing serious. It was no wonder since you had taken to eating only dessert and coffee for lunch. You had a piece of cheesecake one place the width of a slice of pizza. I was resentful for having to take care of both you and the baby. I felt like everyone’s mother. It wasn’t true, of course. I just wanted our trip to be special; an adventure. And it felt like I spent all my time thinking about number two’s.

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