If You’re Happy and You Know It…

My wife attended an out-of-state wedding this weekend, and I—being the valiant, noble soul that I am—offered to stay home with our little one so she didn’t have to worry about the logistics of bringing an infant cross-country.  Away she went, and home we stayed.  I thought, how hard can it be?  What difference is there between doing this as a partnership versus doing it solo?  A few more diapers, a couple more bottles to wash, no biggie.

What a fool I was.

At first, all was well.  Ez and I had a good time playing with his stacking cups, crawling over pillows, and reading his Happy and You Know It book.  Then we ate some dinner and read his Happy and You Know It book.  We finished that first night off with reading his Happy and You Know It book.

It was at that point that I realized I was no longer happy reading this book, and I knew it.  I turned to hand the book to my wife to get a break, but alas, the Pacific Ocean proved a gap too wide.  I turned back to my child, whose eyes sparkled with fey light as he once again grabbed the book and raised it above his head as if to say with actions what his lips cannot yet form into words: Read the book, Father.  Read it and despair.

And so I read.  And I read.  And I read.  While he was Happy and Knew It enough to wag his tail and hop around, my soul cried out for relief.  From time to time, I would offer another one of his books, but always to the same result.  His face contorted into a grimace of pure disdain, then he would once again place his Happy and You Know It book in my lap.  And then, the song would play.

You see, this book has a darker element to it.  Graced upon its back cover is a button that, when pressed by the hand of a young child, plays the music of when one is Happy and Knows It.  And it played.  And played.  And Played. 

Kaylee was only gone for two days, but time lost all meaning in that short span.  Gone were silly constructs like seconds, minutes, or hours.  My life became a binary equation—either Ez was Happy and He Knew It, or he was not, and would insist I remedy that situation immediately. 

My wife is back now, but even with her help, the book still haunts me.  Ethereal creatures wag tails and hop around just out of sight.  I hear its tones down the hall, beckoning me back to flip the page once more to see just what one must do when they are Happy and They Know It.  Am I happy?  Do I know it?  I may never know.