A spoonful of tedium (Letter #018)

Photo of Papa Zesser face down in his Baobao's play-pen

Rinse, lather, repeat

A morning in the life

My darling Baobao,

As I begin to type this letter it is 10:47 (whoops! now 10:48!) on Friday morning. I have been awake since you started my day at the late hour of 07:18 — thank you for the extra 15 minutes of sleep!). I got you fed, a full 200 millilitres of your mother’s finest, by 07:35, then fed myself before we repaired up to my office and your “cage” (most people would probably call it a playpen, but the truth is, it’s designed to keep you locked up. So: cage).

Photo of Papa Zesser holding a partially-eaten bar-b-q pork bun in chopsticks, while holding Baobao in his left arm as she reaches for his chin.
Magister dumum, with child, and cha shao bao in chopsticks.

Around 09:45, you started to fuss, so I took you into our bedroom, changed your diaper and managed to get you into your crib with a minimum of fuss. Your mother barely woke up.

Whoops! It’s now 12:08. At about 10:55, mere minutes after I thought I might get this entry written, you started to complain — loudly.

I got you out of the crib (your mum kept sleeping! For a little while) and brought you downstairs. Reheated five tablespoons of the chicken stew your mother pureed for you last night, had a messy 15 minutes or so in your high chair while we got that down you, then fed you almost 100 millilitres of milk.

Your mother descended the stairs in time to help clean your face and hands, then it was back upstairs for a diaper change and some time on the bed with your big brother, Carl the Second.

Detail of photo of Papa Zesser holding Carl the Second and Baobao.
Brother and sister in arms, and all is well with the world. For now.

After that, I managed to type a couple more paragraphs before you started to complain — guess what? — loudly, so I joined you in your cage and managed to read you about four more pages of The Hobbit (not that you seemed to be paying close attention).

Then your mother joined us for a while, until you started to suck your thumb and she took you off to your crib.

All of which is to say, you are not hard work, but you are a lot of work; or maybe it’s the reverse: you’re not a lot of work, but you are hard work?

I dunno. However you measure it, you are a huge distraction, whether you are in a delightful mood or otherwise.

But never let it be said I haven’t learned from you!

Love always,

Papa Zesser

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