Braddy and Bacon (Not What You Think)

Apparently, I’m getting a bit baby-hungry, which is weird and kinda gross.

Babies aren’t exactly the scary foreign entities they used to be once upon a time. I’ve had quite a bit of time to acclimate myself to them and their fluids – after all, I’m a thrice-times nuncle now, so I’ve had quite a bit of experience with the little ones. I draw the line at diapers, but I’m finally not afraid to hold a baby.

And that’s where things start to change. My little brother, who looks almost exactly like me despite being two years younger, brought his little bouncing goblin up for Christmastime. The baby (who I like to call Bacon) fussed quite a bit – as babies do. Bacon got passed around from relative to relative, but none of them could get him to stop crying. Surprisingly, he seemed to calm down when I held him, and I even got him to smile that toothless baby smile.

We think it’s a simple case of mistaken identity – my brother studies math at BYU, so he generally has to keep his face clean-shaven. Over the summer break, just after Bacon was born, he stayed home and played daddy while his wife went to work, and he let his beard grow out. I, who have never had to kowtow to ridiculous anti-shaving prejudice, was fully bearded during the Yuletide season, so something about my voluptuously virile visage soothed the savage sniffler.

Still, the kid freakin’ loves me, and that is awesome.

Natal Cannibalism

Why I'm Creeped Out By Babies #47:

The number of people that claim to want to eat them.

No, seriously, how many times have you been standing around, perhaps with a couple of friends, and some woman with a baby walks past, and then all the women you're with say, in unison, "OH, HE'S SO CUTE!!! I WANT TO EAT HIS FACE!!!" I've even heard mothers describe that irrational desire some people get for having more children as being "baby hungry."

Consider this an intervention: That's not a cool thing to say. It's disgusting.

chomp chomp chomp

When I see something cute, I either admire it, cuddle with it, pet it, or, on occasion, kiss it. I DON'T eat it. Violence against babies is, at best, in poor taste. At worst, it's horrific. You shouldn't even joke about it.

I mean, geez! If I can't make jokes about drop-kicking babies, you shouldn't be allowed to eat them.

Frickin' Babies

Once again, a couple of people have pointed out to me recently exactly how negative I always am about everything. I’d argue with all these people, except I’m pretty sure they have a point. I counted one day, and I found I actually used the word “hate” more than the word “the,” so I guess you could say that I have a problem.

Well, I’ll try to remedy that by talking about something positive and unquestionably happy, like… I dunno, how about babies? Yeah, I can talk about babies. Babies are all happy and stuff, like a big, happy ball of… turkey. No, not like turkey meat. I mean a whole turkey, like you’d pick up in the freezer section at the supermarket, take home, and then forget to put in the freezer, so they get all soft and squishy and leave a great big puddle on the counter.

You know, just like a real baby.

Okay, no happy thoughts about babies here. I’ve got very little positive to say about them. Babies are just a collection of orifices, each one ready to launch a sadistic variety of smelly fluids and fluid-like substances in every direction. They’re the suicide bombers of the human race, second in their skill only to actual suicide bombers.

I might get a lot of flak for saying this, but I don’t even think babies are all that cute. Well, most babies. Some babies are absolutely adorable. I am, of course, referring to your babies, and ONLY your babies, provided you’re a mother and you’re reading this.

Seriously, though, the average baby – especially newborn – looks like a monkey with a sunburn that just ate that powdery junk that collects at the bottom of a bag of Sour Patch Kids. I don’t get why people say seeing a newborn brings them so much Joy and Happiness™. To me, the kids look like they’re pretty pissed off to even be here.

“I used to spend all my time laying around, listening to the radio, and ordering pickles and peanut butter from the room service, and now you expect me to learn to CRAWL? Well, screw you!”

Oh, yeah, those babies have attitude like you wouldn’t believe. And they’re all out to get you. Take, for example, my niece, Clarice (and if I hear a peep out of anyone about how I’m a poet and didn’t know it, I will tie one of her soiled diapers to the end of a rope and beat them with it).

Now, Clarice is pretty adorable – as far as babies go. Besides, she’s family, so I’m a bit more forgiving towards her than other babies. At least, I WAS. Then this happened:

So I’m at my parents’ house one day for a party of some sort. I don’t remember the exact occasion. I’m tired, so I just lie down on the floor. My brother shows up with his kid under his arm, who, of course, crawls right on over to the guy lying on the floor. Now, I’m not COMPLETELY heartless (they found some heart fragments floating around down by my big toe), so I pick the kid up and start throwing her up in the air. You know, the type of thing uncles are supposed to do to endear themselves to their nieces and nephews and to scare the crap out of their mothers. I’m pretty sure we do it to convince the kids to supports US in our old age instead of their parents.

Anyway, while I’m doing this, little Clare decides to go all Luke Skywalker in the Death Star Trench on me. A blob of spit falls, right out of her mouth, and, guided by supernatural forces beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, lands right in mine. I immediately threw the baby on the floor (it’s cool – contrary to popular belief, babies bounce) and ran into the bathroom, where I spat my whole tongue out into the sink.

At this point you’re probably thinking that I’m just squeamish and overreacting. But you don’t understand. I know that baby’s out to get me. Don’t believe me? Well, right afterwards, my mom comes up to me and says, “You know, you probably ought to gargle with some salt water or something, because Clarice has got a mouth infection.”

You see? You see?! That baby’s trying to poison me!

And it gets WORSE! We have not yet plumbed the depths of this knavery.* Afterwards, just as I’m getting ready to leave, Mom comes up to me with the baby in her arms. Now, I’m no fool, so I just out and called the baby on her scheme. And what does she do? She looks at me with her big eyes all wet with evilness… and she reaches out for me to hold her. Then, THEN, she nuzzles her head right up against my cheek. Like I don’t know what she’s up to!

Well, that’s about all the happy I can muster this week. Tune in next week when I write about other things that make me happy, like dating or Katy Perry. Or dating Katy Perry.



*It took all the willpower I could muster not to write “That’s what she said” after this line.