10 Things Your Baby Would Tell You if He Could TalkJohn Cave Osborne
Newborns. Good times. My wife just gave birth to child number five (surprise!) which means that we’re both totally engaged in a bunch of goo-goo, ga-ga gibberish over here. Sadly, all we get in return is a vacant look. If not an annoyed one. But what could he possibly be annoyed at? You don’t think we’re getting on his nerves, do you? What with the non-stop cutsie-cutesie business and all?
Kinda makes me wonder what my guy would say to his mother and me if given the chance. Judging from the look on his face, I have a feeling it might not be what we’d expect.
So in that spirit, I’ve put together a little list of 10 things that babies just might say to their parents if they were able to talk.
1. Did you ever fly in one of those rear-facing seats on Southwest Airlines back in the 90s? You know they did away with them, right? Because they sucked and people hated traveling at sonic-boom-inducing speeds while sitting backwards. So, along those lines, any chance of y’all turning my fucking car seat around? You don’t even have to give me a bag of nuts. You nutbags.
2. Would it kill you to refer to yourself with a first-person pronoun? Because all this third-person crap like Daddy’s here, little buddy and Mama loves her big boy is killing me. So whaddya say you throw baby a bone and stop talking like Elmo?
3. Seriously. Think about this for a second. How would you like it if I whacked you repeatedly on the back until you burped? Jackass.
4. No. I don’t know the Muffin Man. And the fact that he lives on Drury Lane means nothing to me. I’m like 9 weeks old. Do you honestly believe that an appositive like the whole “who lives on Drury Lane” bit is gonna help me magically remember this mysterious Muffin Man character? You’re an idiot.
5. And while we’re at it, I have no idea how much that doggie in the window is. But if he’s the same flea-ridden dirtbag with the noxious gas that sleeps on the kitchen floor, please tell him to quit licking my face as I lay sleeping on the ottoman. Especially if he’s just licked every last millimeter of his package as if his tongue were some kind of nutsack Zamboni or something. Because I’m officially over it.
6. You’d cry, too, if you were wrapped tighter than a five-dollar joint in some mummy blanket, then placed flat upon your back right after you had just eaten so much that you puked.
7. Do you really expect me to believe that two-thirds of the words in the English language end with an e sound like blanky and poopie? Because I don’t. Assholey.
8. Okay. Guys. Will you please kick that little brat outta my bouncy seat? I mean, I’m awfully sorry that my birth triggered the psychological cliche that is that kid’s regression. But, seriously, nut up, make an appointment with Dr. Freud and get on with it.
9. Do you really have to chart my bowel movements on that stupid feed spreadsheet? And if you do, could you at least nix the descriptive essays which often accompany some of my more, um, robust efforts? I mean, seriously, you don’t see me shaking my rattle every time one of you clowns steps on a duck, do you?
10. Speaking of ducks, do us all a favor and loose the Donald Duck voice, okay? Because you don’t sound like Donald Duck. You sound like Gilbert Gottfried on crack. But if you insist on doing it, could you at least cover your mouth? Because if I really wanted to know what you had for lunch, I’d simply ask you.
WHOA. Kinda harsh, no? Well, I suppose it’s not all that surprising. After all, it seems that each generation falls off the Good Ship Lollipop sooner than the one before it. Even so, a little baby? It just seems too young to be so snarky. But such may be the case, I fear.
And if so, I’m blaming that damn baby on the eTrade commercials. That kid’s setting a horrendous example. On national TV, to boot.