Baby Ninjas-27, Parents- 0.

28 Feb
My personal trainer sister is the mother of two babies, which explains why, when I talked to her on the phone this weekend, she sounded exhausted; but that didn’t stop me from talking about myself for twenty minutes.


As usual, I was blabbing about how annoyed I was with someone/something. In this case, I was going on and on about the evil hex I wanted to put on the woman at the bank drive through who angled her car diagonally across three lanes while waiting for one to open up, leaving the rest of us to fight over the remaining lane. I was explaining to my sister that I could probably make a voodoo doll out of a potato, some toothpicks, and old buttons when I heard her snore, so I said I would call her later.

Son is 16, and although I remember being tired when he was a baby, I’ve forgotten how much energy a baby can suck out of you. They’re like little ninjas that throw sleep stealing ninja stars at your head when you’re not looking, and if you’re dumb enough to think you might actually get a few minutes of shut-eye, they drop kick you in the face.


After I finished my potato head voodoo doll, I decided to call my sister back and ask if she needed any help. She then proceeded to tell me one of the scariest stories I’ve ever heard.

The night before had been rough because  my youngest nephew, L, is teething and would only be soothed by Sister picking him up and aimlessly walking him around the house. The second she stopped or slowed down, his eyes would pop open and glare at her. The stare down lasted until L fell asleep which was sometime around dawn. The moment L’s curly-haired head hit the pillow, Sister heard her fiance’s alarm clock go off (I just threw up in my mouth).

As Sister dragged her butt to the shower, she heard my 3-year-old nephew, N, whimpering in his room. The smell of barf coming from his room hit her like a brick wall. She told me she was so tired that she had no gag reflex, and was able to pick up the puke with her bare hands (added for dramatic affect). 

She cleaned N up, washed the linens, and was heading to the shower when she heard L tossing and turning in his crib (goose bumps).  Sister’s eyes darted back and forth like a cornered wild animal.  If L woke up, he would need to be changed, fed, burped, and changed again, a process that could take anywhere from 30-90 minutes depending on what kind of mood he’s in.  Sister was running on zero sleep, and was at the mercy of a teething, and really pissed off baby ninja. (dum, dum, dum)

Needless to say, L woke up, and N got sick again, and this pattern continued until about 3:00 p.m., when by the Grace of God both babies went down for a nap. Sister was so tired that she thought if she tried to take a shower, she might drown.   Instead, she dragged her body to the couch, grabbed a handkerchief sized blanket and a diaper to use as a pillow, and laid down.  It was almost orgasmic. (Oh, good!  A happy ending!)

Her eyes were just about to close when N walked in crying and rubbing his eyes screaming that he didn’t want to take a nap.  My poor, dear sister, semi-delusional, got down on both knees, and with tears in her eyes begged the older ninja:

 Sister:  Please, N, let’s have quiet time.  You watch Dora, and Mama will close her eyes, and when Dora’s over, Mama will give you snack.  Please.  Please.  Please.

N:  Ok, Mama (I grant thee thy wish). 

Sister was out like a light for about 3 minutes when she felt an intense jolt of panic.  She was suddenly more alert than she’d been in days.  What woke her up?  The quiet woke her up (chills).  The eery, long forgotten sound of quiet and relaxation was enough to alarm my sister that something was very wrong.  She ran to the kitchen and saw N, standing with his back to her, talking to himself, as he sometimes does. 

Sister:    Hi, baby.  What are you doing?

N:  Just playing, Mama. 

Sister:   What are you playing? 

N:  I’m playing Chef!

N slowly turned to face Sister, and a glint of sunlight coming from N’s right hand, blinded her for just a second.  As her eyes refocused, she saw N, wearing one of his dad’s old t-shirts, one Spiderman sock, Cars underwear, hair tousled and tangled, wielding a long ominous looking bread cutting knife. 

Nothing to see here.

 Holy shit.

If mother nature didn’t give us baby amnesia, if we remembered or let our bodies remember how much work babies are, the human race would be screwed.


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