It’s a lot of work being the world’s most charming baby, but boy, Is it worth it! People adore me wherever I go. I am so cute. I am so small. I have such tiny, tiny toes (or so they tell me). I like to ride around snuggled at my mom’s side in a little sling, and wherever we go, people want to have a peek at the beautiful baby.
My mom loves the attention. People ask her questions about me (usually the same ones), and she gets to show me off. Shopkeepers, waiters, and random old ladies come to smile and make silly sounds at me. It is very flattering. They say “What a beautiful baby!” “How old is he?” “What tiny toes!” (That’s how I know) and “Don’t babies smell so nice?” I usually choose this time to fill up my diaper, but most people are too polite to notice the irony.
Then I reward them. I make faces, such as the Sad Smile, the Trembling Lip, the Wide Yawn, the Sleepy Eyes, the Cute Sneeze, and as a final act, the sure winner: my Long, Charming Smile. (sometimes I reserve this one. I don’t want anyone getting tired of it.) A little sigh, a little bubble at the corner of the mouth. There. Perfect.
Life for a two-month-old baby is full of excitement and peril. The world has so many interesting sounds and beautiful things to look at, especially lights. I can stare for hours at the window, watching the leaves outside make patterns and listening to the cars go by. I love the sound of the fan and the washing machine and Jimmy Hendrix. There’s just so much to enjoy! Some sounds are sudden, and frighten me. Sometimes… Oh no! What’s that noise? Oh, thank heavens. It’s just me filling my diaper. Mmmmm, warm. Two or three grownups nearby think this is really cute. They call my mom. Pretty soon she will come.
I haven’t told you about my mom yet. There is nobody like her. Life wouldn’t be worth living without her. When I hear her voice, I start looking around, because I know that comfort, food, warmth, and happiness are near. I long for her smell, which is better than perfume, and her voice, which is like angels singing lullabies. She’s coming! I stare and stare at her, loving her with my whole soul. My mother, my beautiful mother! She picks me up and looks me in the eyes. Bliss! My mom and I spend a lot of time together. We go for long rides all over town in my jogger. This is VERY boring, and I go right to sleep. At first I try to stay awake and look at the world passing by. I will not sleep. But man, those vibrations feel good. Wow, this is comfortable. I lose consciousness. I think my mom finds this convenient, although I don’t know why she would want me to fall asleep.
I’m so much fun. At night I sleep near my mom in a little basinette that is just the right height for her bedside (when I sleep, hee hee). She can scoop me out whenever I get hungry or lonely or have hiccups. She hardly even wakes up. We snuggle sleepily and I fall asleep. For some reason I always wake up back in my basinette. My favourite thing to do is go swimming in the bathtub. We fill it up very deep, and Mom and I get in. Then she gently holds my head so my ears don’t get wet, and lets go of my body. It’s been a couple months, but I still remember how to swim. I swish my arms and legs around. I open my eyes very wide, and give her lots of smiles to let her know that she can do more of this and less jogging around town. I try to put my head under, but she won’t let me. She splashes water on my tummy. Woah, that feels cool! Do it again!
Actually, my favourite thing to do is nurse. Mom and I have gotten pretty good at it. We hardly have to think about it anymore, and we can nurse anywhere. Sometimes people don’t even know that I’m nursing. It makes Mom a little nervous when they come up to look at me. I couldn’t care less. Nursing is my chief pleasure in life. It is pure comfort. Playing with my dad is fun, too, though everything he does is a little scary. When he kisses my cheek, it is rough and loud. When he talks, his voice rumbles like thunder. He tosses me about and plays his guitar for me, and sometimes I feel like I am in the middle of a wild storm. My mom always says, “Stop! Don’t do that to the baby!” But, so far, I haven’t come to any harm. Then he picks me up and puts me on his chest. He thumps my back for a while, and we fall asleep. My dad isn’t as comforting as my mom, but he’s way more cool.
Life is pretty good, except when I have a bubble in my tummy, which makes me enraged. I have to let mom know that it’s time to de-bubble me. I’m good and loud, so that she’s under no misunderstanding. I don’t want comforting or nursing, I want to be jiggled up and down and patted vigorously. I HATE bubbles. But aside from bubbles, my life is great. I work hard. I have to grow, eat, play with my fingers, practice directing my fist into my mouth, and work on my sounds, such as grunts, coos, growls, whines, gurgles, bleats, and chirps. My mom calls me her Little Forest Animal. Sometimes grownups try to copy my sounds. This is hilarious, and I always encourage them. I don’t think grownups really understand what suckers they are. My mom and dad are the worst. I make revolting, biological sounds deep in my tummy or in my diaper, and they gather around, marvelling at me and finding me amusing and cute. If I do it in some solemn, quiet place, like the library or church, they enjoy it all the more. But even though they’re a little foolish, I’m so glad they chose me to be their baby. I seem to be just perfect for them. (But then, as I always say, they have excellent taste.)
