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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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!!
Despite my best effort to stay awake, the parental units have found a way to defeat my anti-sleep defensive mechanisms… some dastardly device called “The Swing” plays some cheesy sleepy-time tune whilst the nefarious motorized contraption rocks me to and fro’. As much as I try to resist, I inevitably end up being knocked unconscious by the motion of this incredibly predictable device. I must learn ways to resist….must stay awake…must…hmmmmmm…
Holy Jeepers! Look at the size of this lime-green furry creature! They just plopped the thing right beside me — almost scared the poop out of me. Oh… waitaminute. It did scare the poop out of me. Oh… sorry buddy.
Hey you! You, with the camera! Can I get a dry nappie here!
I think I’ve stumbled onto something here. If I push up on my lower extremities while pulling on the upper ones, I can achieve a vertical advantage. The view from this position is amazing! I can see all around me — things that were previously hidden suddenly come into view!!It’s a bit dizzying though — I can’t support this position for long because my legs aren’t strong enough to support my head for any significant length of time — but I suspect that if I keep doing this “pull up” routine I’ve just developed, I’ll have enough lower-body strength to maintain this position for whole minutes at a time. I’m not sure, but I think that this “standing up” technology is key to the whole ambulatory thing. Stay tuned…
There seems to be a theme running here.
They slip me into some sort of support device then strap me in. Barely three months old and with a spine that’s about as solid as week-old noodles in a soggy paper bag, they slip me into this plastiform molded chair and expect me to be ecstatic at the opportunity to mold my skeletal structure to an implement that seems more built for torture than for comfort. I guess I brought this on … I had this weird notion that I could see things better if I sat up than if laid flat on my back. I must admit I kinda like this “sitting up” position better… had I known it would entail this form of therapeutic punishment I might have spent a few more months admiring the finely detailed workmanship on the ubiquitous parquet flooring.