February Exclusive - Typo - Part 3

Jessie is a chunky monkey. Mommy says so.

How delicious it is, taking her time to wake up, sitting in her mother’s lap, morning sun casting an optimistic glow over her bedroom.

“Chunky monkey,” says Mommy gently. Jessie’s mother sniffs at her daughter’s hair, inhaling deeply. “Mmm,” she says, “don’t you smell good.”

Probably. Most likely. Jessie has to focus right now, the handles of the sippy cup held fast between her chubby fingers, drinking her milk. She has to fill her tummy. It’s not a bottle of course, Jessie hasn’t needed a bottle in forever. Big girls don’t use bottles.

But they do wear diapers. Jessie has already had her’s changed this morning, lying on the mat and telling her mother all about the funny dream she had as Mommy cleaned and changed her.

What a dream! Impossible, and hard to describe beyond a babble of nonsense. But it feel real in Jessie’s head when she woke up, so real that she almost cried out in fright as she saw the wooden bars of her crib.

And then she did dry out, didn’t she. She cried for her mother. And fortunately, Mommy showed up, telling her good morning with that smiling face as beautiful and essential as the sun. Jessie tried to hold onto the crazy dream, but Mommy had bigger things to tell her about. Like messy diapers and hungry girls, and then it was time for morning milk and cuddles, and the dream faded away.

Jessie is a big girl today, Mommy confirms. Was she not a big girl yesterday?

Big girls have pacifiers. Jessie can a blue one, lying in her crib. She woke up with it in her mouth.

And they do wear feetie pajamas. Jessie is wearing a fuzzy white pair decorated with red hearts. She kicks her feet lazily, luxuriously, as her mother describes the day ahead.

“Today is your birthday, sweet girl. You’re gonna get presents, and a cake, and everyone’s coming for your party. And because it’s a Saturday we’re having a morning party.” Mommy nuzzles her daughter’s head and says, “We’re having a pancakes and pajamas party!”

This is news to Jessie. Not news she truly understands, but she can drink from her sippy cup and sit on her mother’s lap, and she can wake up so gradually and calmly. So there’s really nothing to worry about.

“Do you know one of the best things about a pancakes and pajama party, Jessie?”

It’s a good question. Jessie does not know the answer. She continues drinking, tipping her cup to drain the last of the milk.

“Well,” says Mommy, as if she has waited long enough for an answer, as if this is a real conversation, “I guess there’s two best things.” She clocks Jessie’s empty sippy cup – “All done, good girl,” and takes it away, bringing a fleecy blanket up and over Jessie’s chest, the toddler tenderly stroking the shiny edges with a dreamy expression.

“First,” Mommy says, “the menu is pancakes, which is your favorite! You love pancakes, don’t you.”

Jessie nods. She proves the point by echoing the word. Well, close enough.

“Panakes,” she chirps, kicking her legs agreeably. It’s not surprise she can say the word so well; Jessie is such a big girl, she has a wealth of lexis to choose from, including but not restricted to:

Mommy

Daddy

Baby

Milk

Juice

Hello

Bye-bye

Yes

No

Doggy

Kitty

Ball

Nose

Eye

Banana

Cookie

Car

Hot

Thank you

Bath

Shoe

Book

If Jessie could count, she would tell her mother that she can say as many as twenty-five words. As it stands, she can get by, in these conversations with Mommy. Jessie can pretty much hold her own.

“Milk,” she says inquisitively, adding even more flavor to their dialogue.

“All gone,” replies her mother.

“All gone,” Jessie agrees.

“Clever girl,” Mommy says. “So we’re gonna make a pancake birthday cake! And have all your favorite things. Like strawberries. And cherries. And cream…”

Jessie’s eyes widen. “Keem!” She’s close with that one, if she could just get pat the tricky /r/ sound. And she knows exactly what cream is, the kind that comes out of the squirty can when they have pancakes at home. The kind that comes already on the pancakes when Daddy takes her to IHOP.

Speaking of…

“Daddy,” Jessie says. She enquires.

“Daddy’s downstairs putting up your decorations,” says Mommy mysteriously. Decorations? That could be anything, although Jessie’s mother’s tone suggests this is something good.

As good as pancakes? Doubtful. But good all the same.

“Gonna make the living room and the kitchen all pretty for the birthday girl!” Mommy promises, and that’s good enough for Jessie.

But hang on. What happened to the other party? What happened to the one with all the colors? Jessie can’t remember what the theme was called, but she does remember that there would be party favors.

Wait. What are party favors?

The mystery deepens. Jessie looks down past her mother’s lap, down into the crib. She would like to suck on her pacifier, that would make her feel better. She reaches and whines.

“Bin-kee.”

Another word. So maybe twenty-six, if anyone’s still keeping count.

Mommy gets up, holding Jessie in one arm because Mommy is super-strong – or because Jessie is super light? – and she bends down long enough to drop the blanket inside the crib and grab the pacifier. Once it’s between Jessie’s lips, Mommy says, “Dr. Fulton says we should be saying goodbye to the B-I-N-K-Y, but it’s okay, she told me about the coolest way to make it happen, you’re gonna love it. Anyway, I’m delegating that one to Daddy.”

“Daddy,” Jessie echoes. The only interesting part of Mommy’s news.

“Daddy,” says Mommy. “Let’s go down and see how Daddy’s getting on with the decorations.”

“Daddy!” Jessie enthuses around her pacifier, waving her hands as if hailing a cab.

“You got it.” Mommy carries her daughter out of the nursery and downstairs to the kitchen.

“Birthday girl,” Daddy says as soon as he sees her. His sleeves are rolled up, and even Jessie understands that the kitchen is kind of in a mess. An awesome, perfect mess.

The table is covered in rainbow-colored clothes, lanterns and paper flowers. There is matching bunting hanging from the cupboards.

Mommy points at what Daddy has done with one of the smaller, folding tables. “Um, what’s that?”

“Fruit loop necklace station,” he replies.

“Excuse me?”

“You make necklaces out of fruit loops.” He looks at his wife’s expression. “What?”

“Honey, they’re babies, the only place fruit looks are going to go are in their mouths or on the floor.”

“No,” Daddy argues, “it’s for the moms and dads, they make them.” He nods encouragingly. “It’ll be cool. Seriously. Saw it in Pinterest. If they do a rainbow pattern, it’ll match the bunting. Imagine how the photos will turn out.”

Mommy laughs. “You were on Pinterest?”

Daddy grins. “Told you I’d take care of the décor, honey.” He laughs. “But I tell you something, the Internet isn’t…well, I’m glad I did my homework before today.” He pats his jeans pocket. “When I woke up this morning, someone had swapped my iPhone for something in the Smithsonian.”

“Well,” says Mommy in a funny tone that makes Jessie’s nose wrinkle, “You don’t look old.”

“Was gonna say the same thing about you.” He stares at his wife and says with theatrical surprise, “Why, you look twenty years younger!”.

Jessie keeps her arms reached out until Daddy’s holding her. “Happy birthday to you,” Daddy sings, “happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, chunky monkey, happy birthday to you.”

Jessie laughs at her father, who doesn’t sing very often, who isn’t around at breakfast time very often, and is generally speaking, a superhero.

“Guests are due in twenty,” says Mommy, casting a critical eye over the kitchen counter. “Is this under control?”

“Like a NASA shuttle launch,” Daddy replies. “It’s going smoother than the TDRS-K satellite did in January.”

Mommy laughs. “Nerd,” she says, planting a tidy kiss on her husband’s cheek. “But seriously, you need to stop with the decorations and start making the star attraction.”

Daddy raises an eyebrow. “I’m holding the star attraction.” He holds up Jessie for a moment, lifting her above his head and earning a giggle for his trouble. “Chunky monkey is the star!”

Mommy nods. “She is a little chunky.”

“She’s a baby!” Daddy says, kissing his daughter’s cheeks.

Jessie frowns. That’s not true.

“She’s perfect,” says Mommy, and for a sweet moment the family is together, Jessie encircled by both parents.

“We doing the right thing here?” Daddy softly.

Mommy sighs. “The perfect thing. Now, hurry up with the pancakes, I need you free to take pictures, I wanna share the whole thing on…” She sighs again. “When does Facebook start?”

Daddy shrugs. “Couple years from now.”

Mommy huffs. “Missing TikTok a little, I admit.”

TikTok. Like a clock. Jessie looks up at the kitchen clock and wonders at the numbers. She’s a big girl but in this moment, she is keenly aware that very little of anything makes any sense to her. Sounds and pictures, it’s mostly a blur.

And then she has a moment of near clarity. Thinking that surely, she’s too big for Daddy to hold her like this. Too big to be talked over. Definitely too big to be called a cheeky monkey.

“Missing Insta?” asks her father, a teasing quality in his voice.

Mommy pouts. “

“Hashtag old-timey.” Daddy laughs. “Just wait seven years or so, and then you can get busy with your selfies. And then there’ll be TikTok.”

“And then we can worry about Covid,” groans Mommy.

Jessie blinks. Add that word to her list. Add ‘mask’.

Add ‘lockdown.’

She squirms in her father’s arms.

“Getting hungry?” Daddy asks her. He tickles her sides. “Hungry for pancakes!”

“She’s had her milk,” says Mommy.

No, Jessie isn’t hungry. Quite the opposite.

“Covid,” she mumbles around her Binky.

She watches as Daddy gives Mommy a strange look, and then Daddy brings his face to her own and nuzzles her hose. “Princess Jessie,” he says grandly, “today is your birthday you are going to have a ball.” He winks. “Wanna see the rest of the decorations?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. He half-walks, half-dances his way into the living room, jiggling Jessie lightly in his arms. “Check it out,” he says importantly. He must be proud of his efforts. For Jessie’s party, she stares at the oversized, pink balloon. It’s a funny shape.

“You know,” Daddy says, “the best thing about a pancake pajama party?

Jessie stares at the pink balloon. It’s a number.

“Well, I guess it’s the pancakes. Even better than the ones you get at IHOP, because Daddy’s making these ones, and Daddy makes excellent pancakes. But the other best thing…?” He tickles Jessie’s belly. “You’re already dressed up!”

The balloon is a number. That’s why it’s such a funny shape. It’s just round like a regular balloon, there’s more to it. There’s information here. Significant data.

Daddy nods approvingly. “Feetie pjs? Excellent style choice. Mommy’s gonna put your hair in pigtails, red ribbons to match those hearts on your jammies.” He taps his chin. “I’m a little jealous, to be honest with you. Maybe I should have a pancake pajama party for my birthday…”

Daddy’s joking. Daddy’s so funny.

But Jessie has something else on her mind.

The balloon is shaped like a number two.

And just like that, Jessica has a handful of numbers in her head. And then a few more. And one thing she knows for sure, as a shiver down her back makes her squirm again, is that the number is wrong. “Little wriggler,” says Daddy, putting her down on the floor.

“Mommy was in charge of the invitations, and she asked all the guests to show up in their pajamas, too.” He grins down at Jessie. “Even Grandma says she’s going to wear her jammies!”

Jessie looks up at her father. Her incredibly tall, funny and perfect father. And then she toddles over to to the pink balloon. She reaches out and touches it gingerly. She must be careful, because Jessie understands that there’s something big inside this balloon. There’s more information, there’s a rocket ship of data.

“Gentle,” Daddy says, crouching at her side. “Don’t wanna pop this thing.” He looks thoughtful. Maybe I should put it up higher.”

Jessie runs a finger along the balloon’s plastic, makes a face at the squeaking sound. She shakes her head, filled with disapproval.

“Wong,” she says.

“What’s that?” asks Daddy.

“Time to get a wriggle on, pancake chef,” Mommy calls from upstairs. Guests are due in 10 and I’m guessing they won’t be fashionably late to a toddler’s birthday party.”

Daddy looks distracted. “I know,” he calls back. He looks at Jessie. “What’s up, Buttercup?”

Jessie spits out her pacifier and it falls to the carpet. “It’s wrong, Daddy.”

“Wrong?”

“Two,” says Jessie. She puts a small hand on her father’s bare arm and delivers the bad news with perfect diction. “Daddy, it’s a typo.”