playing favorites
i'm not entirely sure how to put this. you see, i have a feeling that's a little ... well ... a little inconvenient. i'd rather not have this feeling. it's a feeling that i am pretty sure has torn families asunder, a feeling that has sent children -- do not pass go! -- directly to therapy. it is a feeling that dare not speak its name.
only .... i shall dare to speak its name.
here is my feeling: i don't like this new kid as much as i like the old kid.
now, before you have me hauled off and raked over the blogcoals, let me point this one thing out: i have known the old kid longer than i have known the new kid. also, to be fair, i am pretty sure that i do not like the old kid now as much as i did when she was the same age as this new kid is now.
that caveat aside, let me say this: babies are lame.
THERE I SAID IT!!! BABIES ARE LAME!
first of all they sleep all the time. then, when they finally do wake up, all they want is food. when they get food do they even look at you? no! they get all whiny and barf on you! they pant. they hyperventilate. sometimes they do weird-ass baby tai-chi. or they startle and roll their eyes. but do they connect with their biological parents in any meaningful social way? ha!
eye contact? forget it! a smile? you've got to be fucking high! babies are way too lame to smile at you!
picture a happy little household of three: mommy, daddy and their kid. the kid, despite being 3 years old and a tragically deranged schizophrenic, is an angel of heaven sent from above to make the world a sweeter gold-shinier place. sure, she whines way too much and still poops in her pull-up, even though she denies that she has pooped in her diaper while simultaneously telling you she is a big girl who poops in the potty despite the fact that this is a bald faced lie and at this exact moment she has a giant turd in her pants that she will soon be begging you to clean up with your bare hands.
now. where was i? oh, yes. you have this little dickens of a toddler and you love her and she talks and smiles and giggles and makes jokes about monkeys and spaghetti WHICH ARE HILARIOUS and has a weird fixation on princess mermaids. she even says "i love you" unprompted (right before pulling your cherished records off the shelves and using them as frisbees). she is, like, eight shades of awesome and crazy. she rocks your world all the time. the three of you together are a virtuous pyramid.
now, all of a sudden, into the fine-tuned three-tiered ecosystem of your home comes a tiny, 7-pound eggplant with eyes. if you are a man, this eggplant doesn't care about you because you don't have boobs that drip milk through three layers of clothing. even if you're a mom and you do have boobs that leak through stainless steel, she doesn't really care. sure, she'll indulge. but she doesn't smile. you could be a giant nipple for all she cares as long as she gets fed. then she passes out again -- "fuck you, i'm tired. peace out." THEN! she wakes up every two hours and says I HAVE GAS. FIX IT!
i mean, i'm sorry baby, but you just got here. somehow you manage to sleep all the time AND wake us up all night long! it's amazing. granted, you're a very cute eggplant, but come on! you're just an eggplant. a lame baby eggplant!
dear reader, answer me this: can you blame me? am i a very bad dad? will i like this child as much as her sister? i mean, i really adore her big sister. still. she's pretty scrumptious, i guess. how delicious would her fat little babythighs taste after 30 minutes on the grill? heh. wait. did she just look at me? or is she sleeping again? so sweet. isn't she cute? don't you want to pick her up and put her in your mouth? i mean, could you just die? look at this baby! those cheeks! they comprise like 70 percent of her BMI! so fat and delicious. look at that baby. she's perfect, right? don't you love her? yeah. so do i.
wake her up and i'll kill you twice.
only .... i shall dare to speak its name.
here is my feeling: i don't like this new kid as much as i like the old kid.
now, before you have me hauled off and raked over the blogcoals, let me point this one thing out: i have known the old kid longer than i have known the new kid. also, to be fair, i am pretty sure that i do not like the old kid now as much as i did when she was the same age as this new kid is now.
that caveat aside, let me say this: babies are lame.
THERE I SAID IT!!! BABIES ARE LAME!
first of all they sleep all the time. then, when they finally do wake up, all they want is food. when they get food do they even look at you? no! they get all whiny and barf on you! they pant. they hyperventilate. sometimes they do weird-ass baby tai-chi. or they startle and roll their eyes. but do they connect with their biological parents in any meaningful social way? ha!
eye contact? forget it! a smile? you've got to be fucking high! babies are way too lame to smile at you!
picture a happy little household of three: mommy, daddy and their kid. the kid, despite being 3 years old and a tragically deranged schizophrenic, is an angel of heaven sent from above to make the world a sweeter gold-shinier place. sure, she whines way too much and still poops in her pull-up, even though she denies that she has pooped in her diaper while simultaneously telling you she is a big girl who poops in the potty despite the fact that this is a bald faced lie and at this exact moment she has a giant turd in her pants that she will soon be begging you to clean up with your bare hands.
now. where was i? oh, yes. you have this little dickens of a toddler and you love her and she talks and smiles and giggles and makes jokes about monkeys and spaghetti WHICH ARE HILARIOUS and has a weird fixation on princess mermaids. she even says "i love you" unprompted (right before pulling your cherished records off the shelves and using them as frisbees). she is, like, eight shades of awesome and crazy. she rocks your world all the time. the three of you together are a virtuous pyramid.
now, all of a sudden, into the fine-tuned three-tiered ecosystem of your home comes a tiny, 7-pound eggplant with eyes. if you are a man, this eggplant doesn't care about you because you don't have boobs that drip milk through three layers of clothing. even if you're a mom and you do have boobs that leak through stainless steel, she doesn't really care. sure, she'll indulge. but she doesn't smile. you could be a giant nipple for all she cares as long as she gets fed. then she passes out again -- "fuck you, i'm tired. peace out." THEN! she wakes up every two hours and says I HAVE GAS. FIX IT!
i mean, i'm sorry baby, but you just got here. somehow you manage to sleep all the time AND wake us up all night long! it's amazing. granted, you're a very cute eggplant, but come on! you're just an eggplant. a lame baby eggplant!
dear reader, answer me this: can you blame me? am i a very bad dad? will i like this child as much as her sister? i mean, i really adore her big sister. still. she's pretty scrumptious, i guess. how delicious would her fat little babythighs taste after 30 minutes on the grill? heh. wait. did she just look at me? or is she sleeping again? so sweet. isn't she cute? don't you want to pick her up and put her in your mouth? i mean, could you just die? look at this baby! those cheeks! they comprise like 70 percent of her BMI! so fat and delicious. look at that baby. she's perfect, right? don't you love her? yeah. so do i.
wake her up and i'll kill you twice.
posted by mr. nice guy at 11:01 PM
11 Comments:
Oh, bless you for daring to speak its name. Babies _are_ lame. I still cannot express the level of disappointment and corresponding guilt I felt when, after 10 months of eager anticipation and mental and spiritual preparation I brought my tiny beautiful new daughter home and I looked into her eyes and...and nothing. I cried bitter tears upon realizing she was still pretty much an embryo, just on the outside and without a breathing tube in her belly button. Even though my hormones dictated that I would throw myself under a bus for her, there was no sweet, running-through-fields-of-daisies-with-accompanying-soundtrack type bonding for mama. And all of those conversations with cab drivers came back to me vividly, the ones where I would lumber into their cab hugely pregnant and we'd get to chit-chatting about their kids and I'd ask them how they liked parenthood and they would hem and haw. "Well," they'd all say, "It got fun around six months...s/he finally grew a personality."
Remember? Remember what it was like when your 3 yo wunderkid was a hairy little loaf? You'll forget this kid was every this boring, either, I betcha.
This blog is great. The awesome-est. It is the Internutz.
But I am actually responding to the above commenter. I remember when my daughter was 6-8 months old, and I would talk to other parents. I would say something like "she's becoming kind of like a real person." And they would look at me aghast and respond, "well my baby has always been a real person," or some other drivel. And now that she is 3.5, she is actually starting to be a real person, and I realize that 8 months is still just a more stable embryo.
I think you just summed up my hesitation for having a second kid. Do I really want to upset the delicate balance of our threesome so that I can serve as a set of boobs to a lame baby? Alright, so there's the adorable cheeks and edible toes, but seriously, do you have any idea what it's like have them only stare at your boobs. And then comes the back to work phase with the dreaded pump!
I can't relate the the "second child is lame" issue...but I am a teacher and can totally state that each August, when I get a new group of kids, I swear up down and center that they have absolutely NO personality! But, then, by October they've found their personality and are testing my patience much like the group of kids from the year before. Give it time, you'll love Baby Nice Guy: The Sequel just as much as you love the first one.
I have secretly suspected this. Which has ameliorated my disappointment that my son is destined to be an only child.
Ohhh.... but MNG, while babies are lame (and I'm not arguing, ESPECIALLY second babies)- there will come a day when baby nice guy 2.0 will run to you, holding her big sister's hand, grin at you excitedly and say "Daddy! I WUV my big thister!" and big sister NG will giggle and hug her right there in front of you - and you will melt inside and cry and realize that the lameness you lived through was all worth it. Trust me.
Babies really aren't all that fun. Give it time. The 2nds do turn out to be pretty awesome (as do the thirds, but I suggest you go and get yourself fixed if you don't want that to happen---I know way to many "oops, we're having a 3rd!" couples).
thanks all for the comfort and the commsieration (i am typing this with a sort-of-sleeping braying goat-baby in my lap).
fairly odd ... that suggestion hits a little closer to my, um, home than i'd care to admit.
Ah, just wait until the day that you find #2 is eating pennies and paperclips that you TOLD #1 not to leave out. Sixteen times. Then you'll wonder just how much you love #1 better.
Missed you last night.
You know, I had the same feeling when LA Baby came along. LA Toddler had sucked up all my love.
But... it does change. Believe it or not. You start out loving the new one but not liking her as much. She keeps you up... more diapers... ugh.
After a while though, she gets under your skin and before you know it -- bam! She's got you.
They're sneaky like that, these 2nds.
Amen. And I only have one! But he's 4 months old now and is smiling and laughing, so we've decided to keep him.
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