"Good Night, Irene"

The rain had us trapped inside. Juliet cried. I caught her tears in empty soda bottles. The grocery stores were out of water. And tuna fish.

Juliet sat, surrounded by the remote, both of our cell phones and the camera. Each had bought us only a few minutes of quiet. We had even let Juliet watch the Wiggles – “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.” Juliet crawled to the TV and bounced and clapped. She pulled herself up on the TV stand and fell, and did it again. Unable to understand the Wiggles’ secret, I wondered whether other dads thought about banging the dancer who looks like Sloan from Entourage.

While the Wiggles wiggled, Juliet was happy. When they stopped, she wasn’t.
I turned the TV off. I hate to let her watch at all. I’m afraid she’ll become addicted. Like me. Like most people. Juliet handed me the remote and pointed at the TV. Melissa and I looked at each other, both lying on the floor, dreaming of the days when Juliet took two naps. Juliet looked at us both, then cried.

“Is it too early to put her to bed,” I asked.

“It’s three o’clock,” Melissa said.

“Wahhhhhh!” Juliet said.

Everyone but Juliet was ready for Juliet to go to bed. And I knew that when she finally felt that way too, I’d want her back, in bed with Melissa and I. Watching TV and cuddling. I call this the Chinese Food Effect.

I took out my wallet. I’d sworn I’d stop giving it to her after she dropped my driver’s license in Headhouse square – I think. Juliet stopped crying and started panting as soon as she saw it.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she said.

She also says “bye-bye,” “wa-wa” (the beverage not the store) and “a-choo.”

Juliet pulled the contents of my wallet out, with her thumb and pointer finger, one thing at a time. She handed each back to me until she’d emptied it. Then, she looked at me. Her lower lip peeled forward over her chin. I knew if I refilled the wallet once, we’d be doing this all afternoon. I did, and we did.

At five, we fed Juliet dinner. Melissa made her tortellini. She ate a couple of them and then fed me the rest, one a time. When they were gone, Juliet cried.

“I can’t take it anymore,” I said.

Melissa put a sippy cup on Juliet’s tray. Juliet threw it. It hit the floor and exploded everywhere.

“I’ll make the bottle,” Melissa said. “Put on her PJs.”

I changed Juliet’s diaper and put on her Monkey pajamas. We’re convinced she loves them. I sat in the rocking chair and laid Juliet on my chest. She was suddenly too big for the spot. Her forehead knocked against my chin, and her pudgy legs dangled past my lap off the chair. Hear head seemed enormous.

Juliet fell asleep in Melissa’s arms, still sucking on the bottle. She stretched out her arms, one hand holding her pink monkey blanket. The other grabbing a fistful of her curly brown hair. It had gotten so long.

As Juliet was growing into a little girl, I was growing into her daddy. Wanting to give her everything. Worried about spoiling her. Willing to do anything so that she would never have to feel pain. And knowing that pain is part of the package.

“Would you be ugly for the rest of your life if it meant Juliet would be pretty?” I asked.

I touched Juliet’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Melissa said.

Melissa put Juliet in her crib. We stood, watching her sleep, only a few weeks away from being one year old. It was quiet. We felt like dancing.

“How ugly?” Melissa asked.

We got into bed. Melissa turned on the monitor. Juliet had rolled onto her back. Her arms and legs were everywhere. Her monkey was still in her hand.

“Look how cute,” Melissa said.

I looked. And it hit me. Chinese Food.