Now that I’m well into Maternity Leave, Part II, I should tell you that I have no idea what day it is. Ever. Monday? Thursday? Huh?
I always have to ask Bump what day it is. I don’t know how he is able to keep track, but he always knows. Maybe it is because he reads the paper every day, a task I somehow cannot manage to work in.
With Tivo, I don’t even have the usual Polaris of last night’s prime time television shows to guide me in my “What the Hell Day Is It?” Dilemma.
I also don’t shower anymore. I suspected this would be the case even before I stopped working, but it is much worse than I anticipated. There is a twenty-minute window after I pump when I can shower, after which it becomes pointless because I leak all over. When I’m working, I have a regular schedule and a shower fits in nicely. Now, not so much.
So I’m smelly and I have no idea what day it is. I am awesome.
I started telling you these boring factoids (oh look! A point! An equally boring point!) as a lead-up to what I did for Fathers Day.
This weekend, the condo association held its pool party, and there was trouble with the beer. We decided that it was easier to bring Elvis (our kegerator - our empty, badly mistreated and neglected kegerator) out poolside than to run back to Total Beverage and get a new tap.
After all the effort, the beer never flowed really smoothly. It sort of trickled out, no matter how much I messed with the carbon dioxide canister. I tapped and retapped the keg, making a mess each time, to no avail. I finally came to the sad conclusion that I probably needed a new CO2 regulator.
When the party ended, the building manager gave us what was left of the keg. (Woot! Free beer!) We brought Elvis and the keg back into the house, where I had more trouble retapping the keg. (I should say that I usually have no problem tapping a keg. I can do it quickly, with no mess or difficulty.)
I put the tap on, and well . . . Peter later suggested the term be “Beer-suvius.”
Bump left Lula in Lumpyhead’s crib to come see what the hell had happened. From his perspective, he was changing the baby and suddenly there was a strange hissing sound in the kitchen followed by me saying, flatly, “Holy shit.”
Do they shout something when an offshore rig hits oil? Like “Timber!” but for a geyser of something shooting straight up into the air? Because that would have been appropriate.
There was beer everywhere. The ceiling, the cupboards, under the fridge . . . everywhere. I’ve mopped the floor three times but it is still sticky.
While I was wet, I wasn’t dripping, and we were late for dinner at Aunt Bob and Peter’s. So after a cursory cleanup of the kitchen I left the house feeling like a movie theater floor and reeking of beer.
When we got home, I realized that I had made myself beer-flavored. Happy Fathers Day, Baby! Are you appropriately honored?
Except it was Saturday.
[Shrug] At least it was sort of a shower.
8 comments:
A beer shower. That's something I think E'Yoak would really like. (especially on a day other than Father's Day)
How come your maternity leave sounds like Spring break and mine was more like an episode of "Roseanne" with babies?
Please, please tell me that Bump did not have to clean up the kitchen.
Mmm, beer shower.
my husband wants to know when the next beer shower is so he can come by and have a pint or two. we'll even help clean up, maybe. beer is supposed to be good for your milk production, so I'd say this was good-mommy behavior as well.
I'm sure Bump has had some sort of woman-covered-in-spraying-beer, a la a car wash or wet T-shirt contest, fantasy. Maybe it was good for him.
Beer-flavored wife? You ARE awesome. :)
The whole thing almost sounds kinky, but nor quite.
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