I was recently tasked with holding my newly awakened screaming child for a minute as my wife prepared to feed him. He had been sleeping comfortably all morning, but he suddenly awoke and found that he was starving. He was understandably upset, and cried until I arrived. When we first made eye contact, I knew that he would be difficult to pacify. He stared blankly at me, with flat affect, not yet revealing whether he was pleased by my arrival. It was as though he was saying “Hey there Hot-Shot Problem Solver, what do you plan on doing about this?”
I greeted the swaddled little monster and brought him close to my chest, kissing his head. It was sweet. The crying quickly subsided, and he nuzzled into me with his face. I thought that he was trying to cuddle, so I reciprocated by continuing to hold him close. Unfortunately, he was nuzzling against my chest because he sought milk.
While I have many talents, producing milk is certainly not one of them. I get mine from the refrigerator. If I were to produce milk, I doubt that it would be baby-friendly. My milk would likely contain unhealthy amounts of beef jerky and brown ale.
He became enraged when he realized that he wasn’t getting nourishment in exchange for all that nuzzling. He was furious. With fists raised, and head tilted sunward, the boy cried “I am fortune’s fool!” and shook his fists at the sky for two full minutes. He denied me eye contact for a short while, but eventually looked my way. Even then, his glare conveyed massive disappointment. He’s a passionate baby.
Do not worry, online readers. We are friends again. This is just what we do. We tease each other, quote Shakespeare, and occasionally curse the heavens. Guy stuff.