Last night, Angry Baby was Happy Baby, and it was wonderful. Gone were the grunts, yells and screams of an infuriated tiny despot, instead we were treated to coos, laughs, playing and smiles.
Someone call Dr. Drew ’cause I’m finna do anything in my power to make this baby happy again! I know the likelihood of 2 days in a row with Happy Baby are about as likely as me wearing Jeggings in public. Still, I’m not hindered. Saw off a pinkie? Sell a kidney? Make out with a hobo to Michael Bolton’s “Love is a wonderful thing?” Yep, Yes and YES PLEASE! In the interest of making Happy Baby stay happy, I’m down like a clown. A Hobo Clown.
I make light of her angry disposition, but real talk: it gets old. Yes, I know crying is a main way of communication for infants, but it doesn’t mean I’ve gotten used to it. Our bodies are made to respond to a crying baby. That’s why you cringe in the restaurant, church, movie theatre, on an airplane, bus, basically anywhere and any time you hear babies gettin’ their WAAAAAHHHHH on. Guess what? Even after you become a parent, that tension never goes away! Sure, you get accustomed to living life that way, but a pang of panic remains on a cellular level each and every time your child screams, cries, yells incantations, etc.
But Crib Keeper, I hate children, it’s my body reminding me they are soul sucking demons.
Nice try, idiot. Sure, It makes you feel like you’re witty or cool to say crap like that, but no dice. You’re wired to attend to that screaming hamster because it’s the circle of life. Excuse me, IT’S THE CIRRRRRRCLE of LIIIIIIFE (cheesy reference to the Lion King and it stays!) The vile hatred you claim you feel is caused by wanting to help that baby subconsciously. And yes, it’s also the reason you find yourself reaching for a parachute when you see a baby on your flight.
As I was saying, I’ll do anything in my power to prolong the happy, giggly, sweet little marshmallow I had the pleasure of playing with last night. IT WAS EXHILLARATING!!!! I felt like I was headlining Madison Square Garden, hosting the Source Awards, and dancing at a Sabarro Pizza all at once! (I assume performers at Sabarro are given unlimited slices?)
Whatever I’ve got to do to keep with the goo goo ga gas, so be it.
My little fire-breathing dragon,( who substituted daisies for fire last nite) has me chasing a NEW dragon, and this addiction, I fear is going to last for the rest of my life. Don’t talk to me about spoiling babies this morning, I’m on top of the world and nothing you say, can take it away (rhyme and it stays.)