Baby Mode
I’ll tell you one thing becoming a parent does for you, it makes you notice other children. A month or two back, Bernardo and I were having lunch at the yuppie food court near my office. An attractive young mother passed by with a brand-new infant in a Bjorn. In an earlier incarnation, I would have been checking out the attractive young mother’s rack – because, let’s face it, lactating women have them some racks – but, oh no. I was checking out her child. I was thinking, “Awwwww.” I was thinking, “I remember when Baby Dog was that small.” I was thinking, “I wish I had my baby here with me now.” Bernardo stared at me, staring. “You’ve gone into baby mode, haven’t you?” he asked. “Can’t be helped,” I mumbled.
Always has it been thus. When I got my first tattoo, suddenly I saw tattooed people everywhere. When we got Doggy Dog, I was suddenly aware that we live in the dog capital of the western world. I was going along just fine not paying much attention at all to the rest of the human race. Then one day some dude I barely knew ripped open my wife and pulled out a child, and now everywhere I look the streets are lousy with kinder. They babble, coo, screech, sigh, wail, and make fart sounds. They are tiny and frail, fat and robust, shy, bold, curious, cranky, happy, focused, scattered, striving, inert, quiet, rowdy, clumsy, and mostly sleeping or eating. They grow and develop. They will replace us. We must make them well.
So anyway…I’ve got another little writing project going on over the next few days. Between that, paterfamilias duty, work, freelance work, and watching my stories, there’s not a lot of time left in the clock. I rather expect the old faversham to get short-changed for the next little while. I’ll still post ever day, but don’t be expecting any epics for a bit.
Always has it been thus. When I got my first tattoo, suddenly I saw tattooed people everywhere. When we got Doggy Dog, I was suddenly aware that we live in the dog capital of the western world. I was going along just fine not paying much attention at all to the rest of the human race. Then one day some dude I barely knew ripped open my wife and pulled out a child, and now everywhere I look the streets are lousy with kinder. They babble, coo, screech, sigh, wail, and make fart sounds. They are tiny and frail, fat and robust, shy, bold, curious, cranky, happy, focused, scattered, striving, inert, quiet, rowdy, clumsy, and mostly sleeping or eating. They grow and develop. They will replace us. We must make them well.
So anyway…I’ve got another little writing project going on over the next few days. Between that, paterfamilias duty, work, freelance work, and watching my stories, there’s not a lot of time left in the clock. I rather expect the old faversham to get short-changed for the next little while. I’ll still post ever day, but don’t be expecting any epics for a bit.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 8:18 PM
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