Saturday marked six months of Baby Pickles. An exciting land mark, one that will bring bites of real food, sitting, and another sack of clothes that no longer fit. We’ve fallen into a pleasant routine, and all is well in paradise. Seemed like a good time for another day-in-the-life post—wherein you get a more detailed glimpse into tiny house, Wagen living, and I get to create a snapshot that I know I will enjoy looking at later. Here goes.
We wake up between eight and nine. (I heart Pickles sleep rhythms. They allow me to maintain full control of my sanity.) Pickles usually wakes up first, then me, then the Beard. We snuggle in bed and grin at each other and Pickles gurgles and coos and says “bababababa.” So far, she’s a morning person, and waking up to that tiny grinning face makes the mornings that come too quickly infinitely easier.
The Beard disappears to the kitchen to make coffee, and I get dressed and brush my teeth and empty the chamber pot while Pickles continues to coo on the bed. She’s a laid back baby, but she’s a really laid back baby in the morning. I have learned to take full advantage. After I’m ready I change Pickles’ diaper, and then we head outside and to the kitchen Wagen where the Beard is already drinking his first cup of coffee. I make black tea and drink it outside while Pickles chews on a piece of long grass next to me in her little blue chair.
After breakfast I set Pickles up in her chair on the terrace of my Wagen with a handful of toys within reach. She chews on her rattle and stares at the trees while I gather my painting equipment and get started. I’ve decided to paint my Wagen dark purple, and it is taking a lot of coats to cover the wood siding. I try to get a coat of paint on every morning before the sun becomes brutal, but either way I’m outside doing something. Painting is not a necessary preparation for the move, but I want it to be done before we leave for Frankfurt. About the time I’m finished, Pickles gets fussy, and we retreat into the Red Wagen for milk. (Haul a new load of water in from the house spickit, heat up water in the electric water cooker we have in our Wagen, prepare bottle.)
This morning we had our first adventures in solid food. For the last month Pickles’ has gnawed on carrot and cucumber sticks, sucked on melon slices and apples, and shredded spring onions (no joke: she loves spring onions, must be genetic), but she’s never really eaten any of it. This morning I cooked a carrot, mashed it up and put it on a plate in front of her. She mashed at it with tiny orange hands while I fed her little bits on my finger. She grinned. She is enamoured with food. Watching her discover and fall in love with new pieces of the world makes me fall in love with them and her, all over again. A carrot! It is so easy to forget how exciting something as banal as a carrot can be.
Afternoons vary. Maybe the Beard takes Pickles while I write or do dishes or work on clearing out my shed. Maybe the Beard has had Pickles all morning, and it’s my turn now. Sometime between ten and one she takes her first nap, though only if I can nurse her down. Some days she takes four half hour naps, some days just one two hour nap. Sometimes she wakes immediately if I try to sneak off (so I spend nap times laying with her reading), and sometimes she snores while I putter quietly around the Wagen. We follow her cues and act accordingly. Some time between noon and two she gets another helping of powdered milk (remember all those problems I had with milk production? never fixed ’em and never found out what caused them boo hiss). The Beard and I trade back and forth depending on who needs to accomplish what and when. Every two or three days there’s another load of laundry to be done.
In the late afternoon a friend comes by, and we set up one of our favorite games—usually Carcasonne or Dominion (though Zombies!!!, which I got for my birthday, is pretty awesome as well). Pickles sits in her chair on a table next to ours, and when she gets fussy the Beard and I take turns holding her as the game continues. We all spend at least 85 percent of the day outside, and despite shade and sunscreen, Pickles has developed a golden hue.
Around eight, the Beard makes Abendbrot (German traditional supper of bread and cheese), which we eat in bed, often while I nurse Pickles while laying on my side. And it is there that we stay until Pickles drifts off to sleep (almost always while nursing, though she’s starting to be able to occasionally fall asleep by herself), sometime between eight and midnight. We read and find ourselves following not long behind. The advice to sleep when they sleep is another one of those keys to parental sanity.