Baby Thoughts or a min-baby rant

With a new baby boy in the house we've been supplying words to the baby's every gesture, movement, diaper change, etc. While I have no way to knowing if any of this goes through a baby's head, I thought it might be entertaining to put down in a blog. Here we go:

What's with the brightness and the cold air? I liked it better when it was all warm and the light never changed. Heck I didn't even know what light was until a few days ago. I just enjoyed my cozy little den. Now I'm out here in the open, and it's not the same at all. I make little noises to show my discomfort and get lots of handling, but none of them seem to get it. Put me back in my baby-cave! That womb was just how I liked it. There was none of this clothes and diapers stuff, none of this sour liquid that burns up my throat.

Speaking of liquid, why does milk come in one flavor? Why isn't there a rainbow of flavors so that I'd get a little variety? Hour after hour, it's the same thing. Milk milk milk. I hate that I love it so much. Except for when it comes back on me. Then I want those curdles out of my mouth. Bleeck!

These people keep wrapping me up real tight and putting little hats on me. I've about got the hang of removing the hat. A few turns of the head and an arch of my back and the dreaded hat slips right off. Course, they keep putting it back on. It appears my staff aren't trainable. And the swaddling, Lord, I hate that. Don't they know I need to stretch out when I sleep? My right hand belongs right up next to my face, where I like it so that I can suck on my wrist when I like. A couple of times I outfoxed them and slipped my arm out of my sleeve and got it in position, but darn it all, they clothed me back up, wrapped me tight, and I fell asleep. Drat. I hate it when that happens.

Now they've got me in a sleep sack. Why didn't they think of this at first? To heck with wrapping me up like a tootsie roll in three blankets. In the sack, I'm warm as toast, and I can move my arms, thank you, Jesus. God bless the man who engineered sleep sacks.

And while we're engineering stuff, can we get a warmer for the baby wipes? Those things are cold, real cold, and I get startled and sometimes pee when I get wiped, then the whole clothing thing starts all over again. Can't they just let me be? I can hardly get any sleep for all these clothes changes. I'm not a fashion model.

Why don't they ask me my opinion? I'd tell them. Favorite position? In mama's arms. Favorite song? Silent Night. Favorite meal? Milk (Hey, i'm a one-trick pony at meals). Favorite blanket? Baby sack. Favorite diaper changer? My dad. He understands about boy parts. Favorite person? Mom (Hey Mom!). She makes the food. She's the best. Favorite dog? My Maddy. She likes to smell everything. I've got a pretty good smeller too. Least favorite thing? Hiccups.

And let me do a language decoder too. Big cry means I'm pissed. Little cry means you've got about twenty seconds before the big one comes, so hop to it. Whimper means I'm not ready to wake up but some lousy body process is happening. Clearing the throat and little grunts means I want my arms out. Enough with the swaddling folks. My arms need to express themselves.

See? Not much to this baby stuff. Now hold me again. I need a cuddle as I fall back to sleep.

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That's my take from a two-week old infant. Sound familiar?

Maggie Toussaint
www.maggietoussaint.com