Page 41 of Husband of the Year
“Again! Gorilla, Daddy!”
I know sleepy children, and Maria appears to have just mainlined a flight of espresso. She crawls out from under the covers and climbs me like a tree. Her hands grab my shoulders, then face, and this must be what it feels like to be attacked by an alien.
“Sweetie, it’s your bedtime.”
“Gorilla!” Maria shouts and then makes what I think are supposed to be gorilla noises. Grunts, grumbles, and the occasional “ooo-ooo” leave her mouth and shoot right into my ear as her face contorts, and she does her best monkey impression.
“Oy vey.”
My stomach flutters and I have visions of her scaling the walls as Jill and Nick arrive home, gape in horror, and present me with a Worst Babysitter in Human History sash. I need to get her to sleep, but I’m not sure how. My years of experience in kindergarten have sadly left me painfully unprepared for a night with a two-year-old. I grab my phone from my pocket.
Marvin: Past Maria’s bedtime and she’s wired. Did this ever happen with Illona? Any tips?
With my phone on the nightstand, I wait for Olan’s reply. Maria springs from my arms onto the bed and jumps, attempting to leap as high as possible while continuing her primate calls, and yeah, this is officially the end of my career babysitting toddlers.
“Do you want to read the book again?” I hold it up, hoping to lure her back under the covers.
“I want a banana!” she yells and I’m almost tempted to get her one, but realize there’s no way she’s hungry after dinner and three cookies. Three cookies. Wait. Jill was adamant I only give her one. She’s probably had too much sugar. Oops. But they were so tiny—just like her.
I pick up my phone and stare at it, willing Olan to reply, but there’s nothing. At this point, I’m not sure she will ever sleep again. How did two extra cookies transform her into the Energizer Bunny? I’m tempted to text Jill, but that would defeat the entire purpose of my being here. I’m a responsible adult. I manage a class of five-year-olds daily. Surely I can handle a two-year-old for a night.
Maria hops and lands in my lap. A surge of pain overtakes my groin as she crushes my most precious jewels.
“Doh!”
I close my eyes and stars fan over my field of vision, as the aching pulsates and slowly begins to retreat.
“Desperate times,” I eke out and grab my phone.
Marvin: Hey! I know it’s late, but I’m babysitting Maria and she’s had too much sugar and won’t go to sleep. Any tips?
Maria resumes jumping on the bed, and I stand, removing myself as a landing pad. My feet walk in slow circles, willing the dull soreness to go away. There’s no time for distractions now. I have a tiny frog that won’t stop jumping and should be asleep already on my hands. Dear God in Heaven, hear my prayer—please calm this child and help me put her to bed.
Maria doesn’t stop, but when “Poker Face” plays from my phone, Itake it as a sign, maybe my lord and savior, Mother Monster heard my prayer.
“Marvin? Sorry, I was tucking Illona in. What’s up?”
Never in a million years did I think the sound of Isabella’s voice would bring such relief.
“I gave Maria three cookies.” I wince, knowing Isabella will clock the size of my misstep. “They were tiny. Toddler cookies. There was a cute cartoon bunny on the bag. And now she’s hopping on the bed like one.”
“Gorilla!” Maria shouts.
“Sorry, like a gorilla,” I say.
“Okay, first, take a breath.”
I do as I’m told, taking a deep sigh.
“Good,” she says. “Deep breaths. It sounds like a simple sugar rush. Get her a glass of water. Hydration will help offset the sugar. And expect a crash.”
On cue, Maria plops face-first on her bed.
“Wait, she stopped,” I say.
“Good. Get a small glass of water. Not too much.”
“Okay, water. Then what?” I move toward the bathroom door and fill the plastic cup.
