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.

Ok…. I’m generally pretty flexible and open minded… but nobody said anything anything about “brothers”!  I fully expected to be the first offspring, if not the fabled “only child”, but here I find myself introduced to a brother! A fully grown one, at that!  I’m sorry, but this wasn’t part of the bargain…nobody told me I was was playing second clarinet to some incorrectly-gendered genetically-similar carbon entity.  Just give me a few moments to think of an appropriate response…

This liquid thing has me so baffled.

It looks solid, but my hand goes right through it. It’s almost always attached to some hard-surfaced projection and seems to flow to a bed of not-quite-solid material but I can never get a good grip on it. Sometimes I think I’ve got a good grip on it but then I open my paws and nothing remains.

Does anyone know what this stuff is made of? Is it safe?

I have no freedom in this place… I’m comfortable eating with my feet up on the table and, apparently, this is “verboten” in my house.  Are all parents this strict? “Feet, Mado!” I hear them say all the time… as if they never had feet of their own. Gimme a break…

When I get a chair of my own I’m going to put my feet up all the time …. and I will never wear shoes!

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.

Poked, prodded, my temperature taken every time I try to fall asleep, dozens of strangers making stupid faces at me, sucking so hard the inside of my cheeks are getting stuck in my throat…and barely getting a taste of food.

It’s taking all my energy just to work up an appetite and, to make matters worse, my body is sooo uncoordinated. Earlier, I tried to stretch my legs and ended up breaking wind in a most alarming way… jeez. Don’t think the handler is getting any better…half the time she sprays me in the eye or in my ear. Practice, lady!

Gotta go…

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.

You’re not going to believe this… my first visit home and you think I get welcomed by my new family? No…. a bunch of hairy workmen await me, their power saws and power hammers momentarily paused as they bestow their customary oooohs and aaaahs on me.  What kind of parents blow the kitchen renovation deadline when they’ve got nine months to plan it? It’s amazing these people ever managed to conceive me at all….