Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Wild Child

Dear World (in particular, Michigan),
I know my child is the very cutest baby on the planet. I created her myself. However, babies that are not yours do NOT want you to touch them. I cannot stress this enough. Especially on their hands, which spend about 80% of the day in their mouth. One of these days, I will install Wolverine's claws, or maybe Edward's scissorhands onto my own, and then you will be sorry. But in the meantime, AND ESPECIALLY when I'm wearing her in the Moby, and touching her requires you getting within micrometers of my chest, paws off.
Ever so lovingly,


Unless I was related to them, or caring for them in some capacity, I never really had the urge to touch someone else's child. Admire them, yes. Grab their little paws, no. Somebody dare me to give the next old coot a noogie on his bald pate the next time he grabs my child by the hand and shakes it vigorously. Or grab a handful of middle-aged lady butt and squish it like Play Doh the next time she wanders over and sticks both hands in the Moby (AKA, direct vicinity of my chest) in order to manhandle the baby. C'mon, dare me. I need that little whisper that says, "Go ahead, Mr. Clarateaches will never know how crazy you are acting in public."

I mean, I guess I do care what Mr. Clarateaches thinks of me. Especially since he's the only other person on the planet that I know of besides myself who, way back in the 80's, watched an obscure cartoon called Cops: For Kids.

(Pause while I retrieve the baby, who was just woken up by the diabolical dog. Don't worry, I retaliated by singing "Sunny Days" in an off-key fashion into her Lab ears.)

New in the land of babies: My little girl is sitting up! This opens up a whole new perspective in her world. She has an ongoing list of things she must explore when all the gears finally kick into place and mobility occurs. This includes, but is not limited to:

1) Taste test Dogasus' food
2) Obliterate contents of shelves under TV
3) Conquer the stairs
4) Organize the craft table

So, add "baby-proof the house" to my haus frau list. This might actually be quite a challenge, as Gianna seems to already be showing signs of "The Knack." Mr. Clarateaches has "The Knack," which is why he is an engineer and doesn't flinch when it comes to things like tearing my old car completely apart. Or Linux. Indeed, while the babies of some of my peers are busy playing with actual toys, Gianna wants (and tries) to pry off the lid to the water purifier. She chirps and kicks her feet when she sees the water heater and well tank, which means she wants a closer look. She spent a huge amount of time on a trip to NY eschewing toys to stare at the warning label of her car seat, which contained diagrams. Untying and un-threading laces to booties, attempting to remove the covers to batteries, and operating handles and levers at every opportunity complete the list of fun and games. Time to focus the donations to RIT with legacy in mind.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Gianna Bright and her Mighty Dogasus

Day 1- "Lola, meet the baby." Lola, the doggess, looks mightily interested, baby sleeps. Lola tries to eat the stupid, dinky hat that the Hospital from Hell magnanimously gives away.

Month 1- Baby tries to track Lola, who moves too fast. Lola attacks a stuffed bunny.

Month 2- Lola discovers that Baby is a magical source of regurgitated breastmilk. Lola instantly grows wings and is a Dogasus, an intelligent, winged, breastfed dog. The Neighborhood Dog Choir is instantly smitten by her blindingly shiny fur. Baby still gives nary a crap.

Month 6- Here we go...

Gianna has discovered the dog, and is now full of love for this licky, furry critter. She jabbers to the dog in a high-pitched screech, and Lola walks around on high auditory alert now- ears pulled all the way back. It makes her cheekbones look awesome, and that combined with her super shine is just too much. Dang dog. She shows her love for the baby by licking her feet, while the baby buries her hands in Lola's bouncin' and behavin' fur. This is truly the beginning of a force to be reckoned with.