“Would you mind changing HP?” my wife says.
Hmmm, interesting thought. No, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind changing her a bit. Not a complete overhaul, just a few details about her. Would not mind at all. Not to be too much of a stickler, my darling, but in the interest of constructive criticism, there are a few things we might work on to better yourself. For example:
- Schedule. I’m not overly routine-y myself, but you are a baby. You need routine and repetition. Ask anybody, they’ll tell you. We are trying so hard to give it to you, but you seem to think it’s more fun to shun our doctor-approved schedule and be all cavalier about napping. Then you can’t figure out why you crash and burn 30 minutes to an hour before bedtime, refuse to eat and then wake up hungry in the middle of the night. I don’t see who’s benefitting here, my love. You’re making it very tough to plan fun family activities like tummy time. Just try the schedule out, huh? You might even like it.
- The Whole Zero-to-Psycho-in-60-Seconds Effect. I mean, here we are, enjoying some nice father-daughter time on the couch. Reading a book, playing with my nose, whatever and, oh, what’s that? Yes, it is relatively close to feeding time. Not that close, but…oh, I see. You want to eat now, then? Came up quick. And noisily. You know I still have to warm the bottle, right? I cannot physically heat the milk any faster; it’s science. You think I’m happy right now? What happened to the old five minute warning? And so on.
- I’m Soothing. Maybe we just got off on the wrong bootie here with the whole me-putting-you-to-bed-thing. I am, admittedly, an inferior substitute for the warm bosom of your mother, but I’m not completely useless. I’m experienced (ask your brother), gentle. I have a lovely singing voice if you just give me a chance. Let me calm you. I’m more soothing than a babbling brook. Or Madonna’s “La Isla Bonita.” Or just the color taupe. All we are saying is give dad a chance.
- Fikey Control. It’s like you’re playing hard to get with your fikey. You want it, but you don’t want it to know you want it. So coy. Then the second it tries to put the moves on you, you spit it out like one of those Buttered Popcorn flavored Jelly Bellys. Yeah, take that, fikey. I guess you win, love. But really we all lose, because you get all upset when fikey stops coming around. And we all know what happens when baby gets upset.
“So did you change her?” my wife says.
“I tried, but she’s stubborn. And surprisingly set in her ways for being so—“
“Her diaper. Did you change her diaper?”
“Oh, my, no. Wait, are we having the same conversation here?”