Now...While There's Time

A father learns to embrace the chaos of his daughter’s toddler years

- Ed Bartley

“MISSY,” I CALLED to my wife, “did you smear Vaseline on my desk?”

“No, honey. Meghan probably did.” Just like that. Calm. As I’d feared, she had missed the carefully honed, double-edged irony of the question. I knew she hadn’t put it there. The question was rhetorical; its only function was to make clear to her that she hadn’t done her job: Defend my desk against the aggressor.

I abandoned the conversation. I would deal with Meghan, our 22-month-old daughter, later.

All of that was yesterday. Today I sit here at that same roll-top desk, which I salvaged from a friend’s attic two years ago, and stare at the blank sheet inserted in the type writer. I wait patiently for ideas to come to me, exam questions on Herman Melville for a test I will give my English students tomorrow. My wife is off to a reunion somewhere, but I am not alone. Our two children keep me company. Ten-month-old Edward cooperates to some degree; he spends most of his day poring over a seemingly endless array of cards, tags and other assorted pieces of paper, plus a Sears [an American chain of department stores] catalogue that he tears apart page by page. Occasionally, he leans out and flails madly at the piano, which he can just reach.

But it is Meghan whose plans have been destined from all eternity to clash with mine today. She follows a daily routine that is both time-consuming and challenging. It includes certain basic tasks: watching the “grop”. (That would be the fish.) Sweeping the rug in her room and her crib. (Yes, Meghan sweeps her crib.) Sitting for a few minutes on the bottom shelf of the bookcase to determine whether she still fits there. (She fit yesterday and the prospects look good for tomorrow.) Checking periodically on Edward. Climbing in and out of the stroller for practice. Testing the sofa springs.