The Villain Talks Babies

I make little bones about the fact that wee wee beasties and I REALLY don’t understand each other. We have no natural chemistry. That kid that smiles shyly at you and runs away? I’m the adult version of that, with small children. We make eye contact, smile at each other nervously, then decide (wisely and in perfect unison) to run the HELL away.

Babies and I do not speak the same language, and probably never will. I would seriously consider adoption simply for the perk of being able to skip the first two years.

There’s just this intensely uncomfortable part, for me, as a person thoroughly wrapped up in expressive language, about communicating with babies. You’ll sooner get a straight answer out of a Magic 8 Ball. For as much ambivalence as I possess about the staring, gelatinous lumps of flesh that babies are, they steadily grow on me as they get old enough to actually express themselves. By the time they make it to middle school I think they’re really and truly brilliant (they agree– this is why middleschoolers and I have always gotten on famously.)

Hurk. Small children...

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Both sides of the political spectrum have questions...

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Shopping for babies, however, is the worst. They have no personality (sorry, doting parents, it’s true), so shopping for them– especially for baby showers, when the kid isn’t even born yet– is horrible for someone like me. I  work very hard on presents, generally speaking. Thus, shopping for gelatinous lumps of non-personality is the bane of my philosophical existence. Also, marketing for children is basically designed to drive me over the edge.

To illustrate the level of my little kid and related shopping anxiety:

(click more)

I, of course, am the Villain in this conversation:

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:52:24 PM): oh, I got my invitation to Michelle’s baby shower
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:52:38 PM): wanna go look at tiny children stuff on Monday?

The Villain (11:53:58 PM): Not really. Baby shopping is about as appealing as Chinese water torture
The Villain (11:54:28 PM): without the philosophically interesting dimension of actually being considered torture by the Geneva Convention, that is.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:55:00 PM): wow
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:56:13 PM): that’s intense
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:56:49 PM): so kids, not so much for you

The Villain (11:57:10 PM): I like kids fine, I just don’t like shopping for them.
The Villain (11:57:59 PM): unless I’ve feeling like a particularly sardonic sadist that day, but you don’t want to shop with that person. She points out horrible things and crushes innocence.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:58:27 PM): oh Jesus
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:58:39 PM): I guess not then

The Villain (11:59:14 PM): have I mentioned that I hate pastel colors, and think baby things universally smell bizarre?

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:59:30 PM): yeah you have
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (11:59:40 PM): you told me you think babies smell gross

The Villain (12:00:10 AM): they usually do. that happens when you soil yourself multiple times a day.
The Villain (12:00:23 AM): also, they’re too squishy

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:00:55 AM): I love babies. I think they smell great

The Villain (12:01:04 AM): weirdo

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:05 AM): and they’re cuddly and soft
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:06 AM): and new

The Villain (12:01:11 AM): barf barf barf barf

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:18 AM): they are

The Villain (12:01:21 AM): ahem
The Villain (12:01:23 AM): barf

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:28 AM): they aren’t mean and tainted or jaded
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:41 AM): they just want to be held, fed and changed

The Villain (12:01:48 AM): they’re also just about the most selfish human beings EVER.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:01:59 AM): their entire worlds are just their mommy

The Villain (12:02:13 AM): baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarf

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:02:21 AM): hahahaha
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:02:28 AM): sorry, your best friend is a SAP
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:02:32 AM): you know this already

The Villain (12:02:38 AM): sorry, yours is a baby hater.
The Villain (12:02:49 AM): I think you, also were familiar with this information.
The Villain (12:03:00 AM): we can talk when they grow personalities.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:03:22 AM): You’re going to have to like my baby

The Villain (12:03:40 AM): nope
The Villain (12:03:50 AM): but if it’s an ugly baby I’ll try not to tell you.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:04:08 AM): thanks
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:04:10 AM): jerk

The Villain (12:04:16 AM): you’re welcome
The Villain (12:04:38 AM): no promises– if you give birth to something that looks like a Hey Arnold character, I’m going to let you know.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:05:35 AM): hahaha
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:05:41 AM): not a possibility
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:05:58 AM): you know anything that comes out of me will come out smiling and shitting rainbows

The Villain (12:06:22 AM): that does not rule out the possibility that its head won’t be shaped like a football.

The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator  (12:07:08 AM): well they all come out a little cone-headed at first
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:07:32 AM): all that pressure of squeezing them out and they are awfully soft-headed
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:07:46 AM): but my kid is gonna be so cute you’ll have to barf
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:08:54 AM): and you will be its god-parent
The Eerily-Cheerful Conspirator (12:08:58 AM): it’ll be grand

The Villain (12:10:44 AM): baaaaaaaaaaaaarf

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