Woah… today I experienced something radically different from the rest of my existence! At first it was just a question of sitting in a different but similar chair, if you know what I mean. But then, all of sudden, there’s my maternal unit pushing on the chair, almost as if she wanted to put some distance between me and her.
Then, without warning, the chair starts to fall back towards her, as if some secret force was at work denying her the pleasure of my rejection. So then she pushes again, as if to emphasize her antipathy, and — amazingly — her efforts are thwarted by a sudden swing back towards her. This “to-fro” yin-yang thing goes on for several time-units.
She squealed then screamed something at me but that woman just can’t pronounce her words — it just sounds like mumbling to me. Besides, if it doesn’t start with a “buh” sound then I don’t understand it… come to think of it, every word I know is pronounced “buh”… go figure.
Mom smiles a lot, I’m noticing….me not so much.
I think it’s because she has teeth. Maybe teeth make you smile? Or maybe the teeth just hold your smile in place. I tried it once but it hurt my cheeks.
I’ve finally got a few teeth of my own now… but they’re kinda useless, really. I mean, what’s the point of having teeth on the bottom of your jaw if there are none at the top? I keep jabbing my upper gums! And they wonder why I seem crankier than usual…
I probably should’t admit to this cuz I’m probably violating some secret baby code of conduct… but I just love to do this. After a major cry-fest, I lay my head down on a parental unit’s chest and stay still for awhile until they think I’m asleep… all the while I’m listening to the thump-thump of their little hearts beating away until it returns to a steady thump….thump. That’s when I start with a little curl of the lip, a wrinkle of the nose, crinkling of the eyes and then, the pièce de résistance, a softly uttered ‘uhhhh.’ Man, you should hear that heart go from thump-to-thud in no time.
So fragile these creatures… gotta see what else I can do to freak them out.
So it turns out, after all, that my paternal unit isn’t such a dweeb after all. I was concerned when I found out he was a computer dweeb … I mean, how could he possibly take care of my needs when he makes such poor career choices? But then I discovered that he moonlights as a volunteer firefighter… now that’s a real job. I imagine he gets paid mucho dinera for that!
I’m relieved, frankly. It would have been really awkward dragging my bones to the first day at pre-kin knowing that my answer to the perennial “so what does your father-figure do?” question would be “well… he’s a dweeb”. Now I can say, with some pride, that he’s a highly paid volunteer firefighting dude.
At playgroup today I heard a lot of talk among my peers about this guy named “Santa” — apparently he’s a very kid-friendly kind of guy who does nice things for little people everywhere. Naturally, I thought this was a guy I wanted to meet so I managed to convince my primary parental unit to get me an audience with this fabled character.
Personally, I don’t think this dude gets out much. When I first saw the ridiculously long white beard and the goofy red suit and cap, I thought this was a man with issues about growing up — I mean he’s obviously centuries old with that beard yet he wears a sleeper out in public (I have one just like it too…with the goofy cap).
Naturally, I screamed when mom tries to deposit me on his knee…. please! Let’s chat a bit before making me cuddle with this guy! Anyways, he didn’t seem to know what to do with a screaming baby so I tried to break the ice by playing peek-a-boo with the elf taking the pictures. He seemed to relax a bit afterwards but…. I dunno… I guess I’ll have to get to know him better before passing judgement.
I have this morbid fascination with things that make sounds, especially if the sounds are the result of my movement. I know… it’s kinky, but I can’t help it. So there I am performing my best ‘cranky baby’ routine when suddenly they slap this string of rings on me and fix it to a cabinet handle. Lo and behold, I just can’t stop madly shaking the rings on my arms, like some compulsive-obsessive ghost chained to a wall. I am compelled to watch as the rings slap against the cabinet, over and over again. Fortunately my dignity was spared when I just, like, passed out, still attached to the cabinet.
Okay, so my mom is a real babe… that’s cool ‘cuz I know she’s got my genes and, I must say, she’s pleasant to look at even when I’m not having a meal. But frankly, between you, me and the bedpost, I’m thinking she’s got the jealousy thing happening. I mean, why else would she buff up her mouth bones and tart up her cheeks then dress me up with this goofy bonnet thing?
Imagine my horror when, just as the flash goes off, I spot myself in the mirror. Isn’t this child abuse? Hello 911? I need the fashion police, stat!
This is my buddy Kate. She’s the coolest… amazingly genuine, erudite and way more experienced. She’s actually chewed on meat and knows how to fall asleep without parental intervention and, let me tell you, that’s just so not me.
She wears her heart on her sleeves though… when she’s happy she squeals. And when she squeals you’d better have some ear protection….
What kind of people are these? So they strap me into this device that hangs on a doorframe and expect me to be amused by the fact that I’m laying down vertically with no human being to support me. Naturally, I’m terrified. I keep thinking the straps are gonna break or the doorframe will crack. Do they think I want to be hanging precariously from a doorframe? And besides, what kind of parent hangs an infant from a doorframe then backs away to take pictures?