Taming the Baby Beast

As my personal priorities shift farther and farther from the ones I once held in a lifetime long long ONE MONTH AGO, it seems impossible that I once had the liberty and the capacity to listen to NPR podcasts whilst typing out reports for corporate end users and, yes, probably even whilst chewing gum and gchatting with Lovey Loverpants about NPR podcasts and reports and gum. And high fructose corn syrup. We talk so much about high fructose corn syrup, the Loverpants and I, you would think the corn producers of America paid us to do so. But it's all pro bono. You're welcome, farmers. My priorities today are not linear. They are all a subset of the chief priority of what I call Keeping the Pie Face Closed. This sounds sadistic, but when Baby Girl cries, sometimes all I can do is laugh because her little face becomes all taut and her mouth opens into this perfectly circular pie face hole and her head quivers on top of her little popsicle stick neck and the whole scene is just unbearable. She is so cute, people, even when she's doing her little barnyard bleeting.

We tried to go get take-out last week. She started her bleeting, as infants are wont to do, and it wasn't like she caused a scene and we got ejected from the susheria or anything, but I tried to quickly think of ways to appease her. But then she would stop. She's like her mother in this way. I am a very efficient crier. Big cathartic wail. Then. Done and done.

The one event that she really does not prefer, however, is the bath time. She's gotten so much better now that she's uncorked (trans: stumpy cord popped off) and we can use the baby bath tub, but I give you some scenes from the early days of the sponge bath. Oh little pie face. Someday you're going to hate me for all this. But for now, all I can do is keep my camera shuttering.