Eeeeek!

What have they done to my hair! Give my freako dada a baby comb and suddenly thinks he’s Vidal Sasoon. What does he know about baby gurl hair-dos — he grows hair on his face!

I HATE IT! Look at me, for crying out loud, I look like a poorly drawn Lisa Simpson!!

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!

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.