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?
I got this new block thing from my grand-dad… a bunch of blocks which, according to the instructions, are supposed to stimulate my pincer grasp and augment my manual dexterity. The problem is I can’t seem to get past this inexplicable urge to taste it and lick it all over. I dunno… it’s just bigger than me.
I feel like such a failure sometimes… I mean, I really want to explore my pincer grasping abilities and I truly hate to miss the milestones cuz I know the parental units are tracking them… but it just looks so gosh-darned edible that I lose my self-control. One of my colleagues at the breast-feeding clinic has a mom who is an occupational therapist… perhaps I should arrange for a consult.
My buddy Alessandro popped in for the weekend… what a blast! He’s a dynamo, honestly, AND fully ambulatory! He came in like a hurricane and interfaced with just about every toy I had in roughly 2 minutes. Did I mention that he can walk?! He’s from the big city … Toronto… a big place which, I’m guessing, must have more than a hundred people!
Ok, I’m starting to think these parental units have some kind of obsession with strapping me into things. Look at this contraption! Does he think he looks cool with a baby strapped to his chest? Does he have any idea how creepy it feels to have a fully grown male strapped to your back? I’m beginning to wonder if there are any standards for parents? Don’t they have to pass a test or something?
So, here’s my maternal parenting unit dragging me to the local toy library. That’s embarrassing enough — all my buddies seeing me hanging out with my Dear Mater at the toy lending place instead of chilling at the local breastfeeding clinic with all the other cool infants. You’d think she’d let me ride in the front of the jogging stroller, eh? But noooo… she has to tuck me into her coat, like some sort of arctic marsupial.
Having said that, and I’ll deny it if you ever quote me on this, it’s kinda cool up here… feels like I’m five feet tall instead of being knee high to a porcupine and stiff-necked from looking up all the time.