What the Hell are Zowies?
Jordy
Lottie goes into full meltdown once Ashton closes the door. Half of me prays he will keep on going. The other half hopes he’ll walk back in and relieve me of this stupid, idiotic idea that I’m actually capable of caring for a toddler.
What the fuck was I thinking?
“Come on, Lottie girl. Let’s get you some breakfast. Are you hungry?”
She quiets for a moment, then points to the refrigerator.
“Zowies,” she whimpers, then sticks her fingers in her mouth.
Well, that’s a new one. What the hell are Zowies? I place her in the highchair, and Lottie immediately collapses into shrieks once again.
“Hold on, baby. I’m getting you Zowies.”
I open the fridge, peering in there for anything that might look like it could be Zowies, while Lottie flings herself out like roadkill on her tray.
“Um, is it toast?” I ask, pulling out the bread. Lottie looks up, then wails, pointing toward the fridge again. I dive back in, sounding out everything on the shelves to see if it sounds remotely like Zowies. Tortillas. Salami. Yogurt.
Each item I hold up is met with insistent screams, Lottie’s finger pointing…
At the cupboards above the fridge. Goddamn it.
I open the cabinet where the cereal is. She immediately calms down.
“Zowies,” she mumbles around her fingers.
“You want cereal? You know how to say cereal.” I grab the nearest box—Chex.
“No!” Lottie pounds on her tray. “Zowies!”
The only other box is Cheerios. I grab it, and Lottie immediately starts laughing.
“Zowies! Mine!”
I don’t realize just how tight my whole body is until it relaxes with the first sound of her laughter. I grin, feeling completely insane, but also very proud of myself for not losing my cool while Lottie lost hers.
“Is this Zowies?” I ask. Lottie grins, her hands reaching out and making gimme gestures.
I should have known. The first day I met her, she was all over these damn Cheerios. I pour a bunch on her tray, because why not? And she happily eats her little Zowies while I get myself another cup of coffee and a few moments to breathe.
What I don’t expect is for my eyes to well up with tears as I watch Lottie eat. It’s not from overwhelm. It’s not even because of the baby I lost. No, it’s because this is the first time I’ve ever felt capable around a child. Even if it took me a couple tries.
I manage to get a piece of toast in my belly before Lottie flings the rest of the Zowies on the floor and announces she wants “Up!”
I remove the tray, lift her up, and set her on the ground so I can clean up all the Cheerios. She immediately stomps on the cereal, leaving little trodden land mines all over the floor.
“No, Lottie,” I moan, but she just giggles.
Well, this is a battle I’ll have to lose.
I roll my eyes, waiting for her to finish her Godzilla destruction of Zowie town until she grows tired of that and finds a thread to pick at on the floor mat.
I take the opportunity to grab the broom off the porch and quickly sweep up every Zowie I can.
It’s just enough time for Lottie to completely disappear.
“Lottie, where are you?” I keep my voice sing-song, but inside I’m panicking. I mean, it’s not like she can escape far. This house has two bedrooms and a bathroom besides the open concept kitchen and living room. She can only be in one of three—
My thoughts are interrupted by a very distinct SPLASH.
I race to the bathroom, just in time to see her throw the second of my new pair of Vans in the toilet.
“No, Lottie!” I yell, snatching her up just as my shoe lands in the bowl, splashing water everywhere. My sudden movement must have shocked Lottie because she completely loses it in my arms. She screams, pushing against me as she tries to get down.
“Not yet, little girl,” I say, trying not to freak out alongside her.
So much for small wins—this feels like I’m taking the “L.” I sit her on the sink, holding her toilet water hands in mine and get to her level.
“It’s okay,” I soothe, even though I’m certain those shoes are going straight into the trash.
It’s too bad, I kind of like them. She quiets as I take a soapy washcloth and wash her hands, even laughing as I boop her on the nose with sound effects.
Then, I sit her in the playpen, which is what I should have done to begin with.
Once she’s quietly playing by herself, I clean up the bathroom.
As for my shoes, I really think hard about this one. These aren’t just any shoes. They’re ones Michael and Grace picked out for me. It’s silly, but that means something. It doesn’t feel right to throw them away.
I take in a deep breath, then let it out slow. There’s one person who will know what to do in this moment.
“Well, that’s a face I love to see,” Nina says on the other end of the video call.
I hold my phone a little further away so that she can get the full view of my messy hair, makeup-free face, and probably a million lines of stress around my eyes.
“I think you’re trying to prove something,” she says, laughing. “But all I see is a beautiful woman.”
“You’re my favorite cup of coffee,” I say. “Can you just wake me up every morning with your positive affirmations?”
“I’d be happy to, if you’d take my calls.”
Her tone is teasing, but it still stabs me just the same. She’s called at least twice since the last time I talked to her. To be fair, I was totally engrossed with work at the time she called. Nina’s never known for good timing, but I never called her back.
“I’ll get better about that,” I promise. She waves her hand.
“It’s fine. You’re just super busy building your empire. I knew you’d call me when you could.”
“Well, it’s for a reason. So, I’m babysitting right now…” I turn my phone to train it on Lottie, then back to me. Nina’s face is one of deer-eyed awe, her mouth scrunched into an aww.
“That has got to be the second cutest baby I’ve ever seen. What’s her name?”
“That’s Lottie, short for Charlotte. It’s a long story, but I’m watching her and realizing just how inept I am.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Within the first ten minutes, she tried to flush my shoes down the toilet.”
“Ouch. It wasn’t the Manolo Blahniks, was it?”
I shake my head. “No, thank god. But it was a pair of Vans.”
Nina coughs then moves closer to the phone camera. “Uh, Vans? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”
“Hey, I wear casual shoes too.” Like when I’m at the gym. “At any rate, I don’t want to throw them away, but I don’t know how to clean them. You have Vans. Do you know what to do? Should I throw them in the wash?”
“Whatever you do, don’t do that. I did that with my first pair, and they not only shrunk, but they also melted a little.”
“Oh shoot. No, I won’t do that. But what do I do?”
“First, how bad was it? Was there anything left in the toilet?”
“No,” I say. “It was clean, except for all the bacteria living in there, waiting to jump on anything a toddler may toss their way.”
“Well, that’s good. What you can do is just fill a bowl with hot, soapy water.
Not boiling, but hot tap water. Then let the shoes soak in there for a while.
Afterwards, you can take a washcloth with soap and rub at them to get anything it might have missed.
Rinse them again, then set them out to dry. They should be good as new.”
“So, I don’t need to throw them away?”
Nina laughs. “I mean, you’ll probably never forget they’re poo shoes.”
“Ugh, gross!” But I’m laughing too. “Okay, I think I can live with that.”
I settle onto the couch, watching Lottie play. She’s engrossed with some blocks, fitting them together, or just banging them on top of each other. “Tell me, what kinds of things do you do with June?”
“Well, she loves when I sing to her. I tend to sing about everything I’m doing when she’s in the room, and she gets the biggest kick out of it.” She then launches into a song to the tune of “Zombies” by the Cranberries: “What’s in your hamper, your hamper? Laundry, laundry, laundry-y-y.”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I laugh.
“Hey, you gotta start the kids young if you want to introduce better music than Baby Shark or that damn Gummy Bear song Brayden thinks is so funny.”
“I’m not familiar,” I say.
“Count yourself lucky.”
I do, in more ways than one. Even if it still sucks to know he has his perfect little family, and I just have me.
But then I look at Lottie, and looking at Lottie makes me think of Ashton. Suddenly, I don’t feel sorry for myself. Even if there’s nothing between us, I still feel more of a spark with him than I’ve ever felt with anyone else.
Just knowing that makes me believe I can find this feeling again … but with someone who makes more sense.
Ashton makes the most sense.
“We also play peek-a-boo,” Nina says, and I realize she’s still rattling off ideas while I’m drifting into daydreams.
By the time we get off the phone, I have a small list of things I can do to occupy Lottie until it’s warm enough to go outside.
We start with getting her dressed and changed. I realize quickly just how full a diaper can get, because this one is like a big wet balloon spilling out of her pajama bottoms.
“Okay, Lottie. Let’s do this together.” I lay her on the bedroom floor like I’ve seen Ashton do, a pad under her body. Then I strip off her wet clothes and full diaper, turning my head when I catch a whiff of strong urine.
“Plan B, baby girl. Let’s get you in the bath.”
Lottie has no problems taking a bath. I stay right there at the edge, my eyes never leaving her, so afraid that she’ll slip under the water if I even blink. She doesn’t though. She splashes and plays in the water, and even lets me wash her hair.
I’ve never seen hair quite like hers. I recognize the afro-texture she’s inherited from her father, but the color is this amazing dark red that I know she got from Sasha, as I remember from the photos.