Bob the Builder. On-time and under budget.
I'm writing to you from downtown Chicago this afternoon, from the business center of my friend's 65-story sky rise condominium. I'd prefer to use my friend's laptop, but his computer is locked with a thumbprint ID and I neglected to make a latex copy of his finger before he left this morning.
Though not unexpected, this long weekend getaway is not quite the boozy, video game, DVD, poker-filled vacation I had hoped it would be. He's a new father, you see, and that means lots of singing and hopping around like bunnies. Babies like this sort of thing, evidently. They also like eating, sleeping, and crying...which explains why they like me. We're kindred spirits.
The young lad, just over 3-months-old now, is undeniably cute. But while I seem to have a magic touch for making him smile and laugh (nobody lays down the baby-centric freestyle rap tracks like I do), I have to confess that all this baby-raising work is...a lot of work. They eat 7-9 times a day and relieve themselves of said meals just as often. They cry for no obvious reason, and they like Barney the Dinosaur without even a hint of irony. Worst of all, for those in possession of a child, this cycle doesn't really end. It just repeats itself. Over and over. And over. And over.
I guess what I'm saying is, I'm willing to father a child...and I'm willing to hop around like a bunny...and I'm willing to watch Bob the Builder be the only contractor who gets his job done on-time and under budget...and I'm willing to change diapers some of the time...and I'm willing to have baby vomit on my nice sweater, but...
Oh, hell. Sign me up anyway.
Though not unexpected, this long weekend getaway is not quite the boozy, video game, DVD, poker-filled vacation I had hoped it would be. He's a new father, you see, and that means lots of singing and hopping around like bunnies. Babies like this sort of thing, evidently. They also like eating, sleeping, and crying...which explains why they like me. We're kindred spirits.
The young lad, just over 3-months-old now, is undeniably cute. But while I seem to have a magic touch for making him smile and laugh (nobody lays down the baby-centric freestyle rap tracks like I do), I have to confess that all this baby-raising work is...a lot of work. They eat 7-9 times a day and relieve themselves of said meals just as often. They cry for no obvious reason, and they like Barney the Dinosaur without even a hint of irony. Worst of all, for those in possession of a child, this cycle doesn't really end. It just repeats itself. Over and over. And over. And over.
I guess what I'm saying is, I'm willing to father a child...and I'm willing to hop around like a bunny...and I'm willing to watch Bob the Builder be the only contractor who gets his job done on-time and under budget...and I'm willing to change diapers some of the time...and I'm willing to have baby vomit on my nice sweater, but...
Oh, hell. Sign me up anyway.
posted by Kraig Smith at
1:01 PM
2 Comments:
I only partly understand this concern. When you write, "...this cycle doesn't really end," you lose me. Unless you have a very strange child, this process most certainly ends. I mean, I still burden my parents for certain things, no doubt, but...
After having babysat---which included a diaper change, a bottle feeding, and carrying the little sucker around for three hours while serenading him with James Taylor, Kelly Clarkson and Harry Connick (oddly, these were the only songs I could think to perform), I'm now less certain this is a cycle I want to participate in. Though it is nice to have someone appreciate my vocal stylings as much as he did.
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