Saturday, April 11, 2009
I just adore the exquisite exuberance of babies.
What's not to love? You look at this pudgy little bald dude, and he lights up with this soul-crushing, earth-moving, wiggle-inducing, dimpled smile. And then he barfs on you.
And then you forgive him. Because he's so cute. He even cheesed in that picture up there. And he's happy about it! Can you imagine being so happy all the time that you were cool with barfing? Sheesh.
Back in high school, one of my friends used to tell a joke about cats and dogs. The main point was that when you look at a cat, you have no idea what he's thinking. "I'd like some food." "What was that Robert Duvall movie with the duck?" "When she sleeps, i'm poisoning the Chex mix."
You simply don't know. But when you look at a dog, the transparency of his expression is clear. He's thinking, "Tomorrow, I get to poop again!"
I am very bad at telling jokes.
But babies are like dogs in this capacity. Their joy is innocently and beautifully transparent. As is their sadness/pain/annoyance/fury/hunger/interest in the cloth turtle with the brightly colored flippers. And as this clarity of purpose fades, I know i'm going to be sad and nostalgic. When the Biscuit cries, it's never about the obvious. There is a complex algorithm to toddler tears involving pain, disgrace, failure, exhaustion, hunger, attention, and the need to spread snot liberally around my meager wardrobe. I have a hard time not laughing, sometimes. And heaven only knows it's going to get harder as she gets older. And as he gets older.
It's a bit mind-boggling to be pre-nostalgic about my 4 month old son becoming a toddler and my toddler becoming a sass-mouth, but there it is. The world is spinning much too fast for me, these days.
For example, my toddler brought a picture of Tori Spelling home from preschool.
Creepy, shrieky, toxic, anorexic Tori Spelling was pasted into her "blue" collage. See?
I try to keep trash out of the house, from Cheetos to bad TV, but somehow, ol' Tori snuck on in. Look at her, all smug and orange. And she brought Rachel Ray with her. I asked the Biscuit why she chose a picture of Tori for her collage, since parents send in the magazine clippings and the children make their selections. "I don't know," she said, "But that lady has hair like your hair!" And then she pointed at Rachel Ray.
I don't think the Biscuit is going into cosmetology at this rate.
Everything else in the picture goes with Biscuitology: swimming water, baby, ballerina, shoes, lo-lo, since all inedible liquids are lotion. But the Tori has us all stumped. Perhaps the Biscuit thinks she's some sort of egret.
Here are the pictures i'm sending in for April:
Duckies, babies, bananas, Big Bird, quiche. Sweet, wholesome, yellow. She'll probably come back with a collage of Pamela Anderson in a lemon bikini and a 12-pack of Twinkies, the little scamp.
Wait... and Tori fits in with the theme of transparency, too, doesn't she? And she's probably having some sort of a soul-flushing colonic tomorrow, so that works with the dog joke. And the smiling lady with the banana is Freudian, and the quiche represents unfulfilled dreams, and everything stands for everything all the time, just like in Emily Dickinson's poetry.
I had cheese today, and I can suddenly see the innerconnectedness of all things through a delicate matrix of old 90210 cast members, magazine clippings, baby photos, and fun-size Twix.
And to top it all off, guess what I get to do again tomorrow?