WAKE-UPS:
Bess will let the baby mumble to himself abandoned in his crib until 7AM, when she deems it’s acceptable for a baby, who has no way of telling time, to wake up. When she walks into the room, she turns off the humidifier, which she fills using tap water full of G-d-knows-what, not sterile water from the pharmacy like it says on the box. Then she starts talking to the baby in a voice that can only be described as moronic. She does not speak in clear language, but insists on trilling to him in absurd sing-song. She addresses him as “Boopie head” or “Sweet meefy meatball bing bong.” Thirty seconds of this and you’ll beg for death.
Then, even though the baby is a year old, she breastfeeds him. I’m sure his therapist will love that. Meanwhile, Bess’ husband will get the other child up. He speaks to the toddler like a normal person and as a result, my oldest grandson is thriving emotionally and intellectually. Thank G-d for Bess’ husband.
BREAKFAST:
Bess elects to microwave frozen muffins from some delivery service for inept millenials who can’t cook. Though the microwave zaps micronutrients from the food, she does it anyway and feeds two to the toddler. It’s essentially sugar and carbohydrates, but she placates him. She also makes oatmeal, and even though the label says “Old Fashioned,” I’m certain there are GMOs in it, which is perfect if you don’t care about early puberty or whatever diseases down the line. Bess’ husband will make eggs for the baby, who is a wonderful eater thanks to his father.
DROP-OFF:
Bess drops her toddler off at the preschool at a gorgeous synagogue attended by children of half the staff of The New Yorker, a magazine that did not review Bess’ book about my ability to thrive despite my relationship with my deeply critical mother. As far as I know, Bess is on zero committees at the school and is not in any way involved in planning events at the temple despite being very vocal on her Instagram about how Jews are suffering in the world. She may as well graffiti the door with a swastika and call it a day.
NAP:
While Bess is doing drop-off, the baby goes down for his first nap of the day. You’ll handle the nap, and despite what Bess tells you, don’t just LEAVE the baby in the crib and hope for the best. Sleep training is fine, unless you have a heart. Or ears. You’ll want to sing to him and sit in the room with him until he falls asleep and potentially stay in the room the whole time to make sure he’s breathing. The baby monitor is very convenient, but you know what’s more convenient? Not showing up the in the emergency room because the baby partially suffocated on the ridiculous “sleep sack” Bess insists he wears. Sit in there with him and call me if he’s coughing.
PLAY:
While Bess sits on a Zoom about some television show she conned someone into buying but will never see the light of day, you can play with her youngest child in his most formative developmental stage. Talk to him in a normal voice. And despite what Bess tells you, if it’s below 40 degrees, stay inside. I don’t care how many little alpaca hats she buys from her phone, that baby had bronchiolitis twice since October. You know where they don’t have bronchiolitis? The living room. For that matter, stay inside if it’s below 50.
LUNCH:
You know what, I’m calling an Uber. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.
I love that, since I’ve now read “No One Else…” twice, this is a perfect mini-sequel. Also, G-d willing, my adult children will appreciate this some day in the not too distant future, because your mother and I could be very good friends. Thanks for the crack up on a long hard day.
Dying.......
🤣😂