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.