I have a baby. It’s a Halloween miracle.
Friends and family want all the details about the baby, even though they didn’t seem to give one half a shit about me, a full-grown human man who was doing things every day that a baby could never do in its wildest dreams, if these fuckin’ things are even capable of dreaming. So because I don’t want to waste time writing to people individually, I’ll just do this baby blog. Also, click the ad on the right. I don’t even know what it’s for, just click the fuck out of the ad until you crash someone’s computer.
Anyway, I should probably explain how I got this baby in the first place.
As most of you know, sex with a real woman is impossible. It just doesn’t work. Maybe someday we’ll get these vaginas right on the front there, like a sort of slimy long bellybutton, but for right now it looks like we’re stuck with the original model. So the baby is not the result of sex, at least not any that I was having. I guess I can’t speak for the things that the rest of society might be up to. There’s such thing as an iPhone, so I guess maybe someone figured out sexing.
I came across this baby in a trash bin, which I’ve seen before. I was starting to think this was their natural habitat. It makes sense. There are lots of crumply things, so it’s soft. There’s stuff to eat in there. It’s warmed by the sun. You can shit and piss at will. You probably get weird old chicken soup dumped on you from time to time. I would go so far to say that being in a dumpster is probably indistinguishable from being in the womb other than the occasional lifting of the lid and being doused with coffee grounds.
I was prepared to shut the lid and leave the little guy to his own devices, but then I had a thought. What if someone threw out this baby on accident, like maybe they had two big garbage bags with the baby wedged in the middle when they came down? I’ve thrown my keys in the dumpster before because I was holding them in the same hand as the trash bag and my fingers just didn’t think it through very well. So maybe that can happen with a baby too. And even more, maybe they really want the baby back. For money. Maybe there’s a ransom out there for this baby. $1 Million, dead or alive. I scooped the baby out of the trash, and luckily I was wearing my old Charlotte Hornets Starter jacket that day. I just wanted to look good, but that big pocket in the front is the same thing as a kangaroo pouch, which is also meant for holding babies or hiding drugs that you don’t mind dissolving into the kangaroo’s blood.
When we got to the hospital the people there made a very big deal out of the condition of the baby. It had this big purple cord coming out of its gut that I thought was maybe just more guts, but it’s supposed to get cut off after the baby is born. This lady asked if I wanted to cut it off. “Yeah,” I said. “That would be great. And after that you can come do my shitty job tomorrow. It’s sooooo fun. OR, maybe we should each handle our own terrible jobs, yours being cutting gross cords and mine being sitting in the waiting room and being reminded not to smoke.
After they finished doing whatever they were doing with the baby, I came back in. Another lady asked me what I wanted to name it. I raised my eyebrows and said a word that I won’t repeat, but if you got cut off in traffic by a Chinese gentleman and were furious, it’s a word you might use in a moment of weakness. The woman looked at me and started writing, so I snatched the paper away from her and crumpled it to bits. “Are you crazy?” I said. “You get out of here. To even write that word…”
But that was just a trick because as soon as she left I acted like I was taking the baby to the candy machine when really we were getting the hell out of there. Another lady at a desk was explaining to me how much these babies cost. Fuck that noise. If you do all these shots and tests, how much ransom are you going to have left? I felt the baby. He feels warm enough without melting the plastic around him, so that’s good enough.
We booked it out of there and then I ran home.
Running with a baby is hard. I don’t know how you’re supposed to do it. I tried a couple different styles. I held it in front of me, making a cradle with my arms, but then I couldn’t really move my arms and I think it was a pretty inefficient way to run. Then I tried putting him over my shoulder, fireman style. But then he flopped around and his back was making these gross popping sounds.
In the end I settled on carrying him football style, squeezed against my chest by one arm while I used the other arm to block.
When we got home I put the baby in a dresser drawer. That’s what my parents did, which seems a little abusive after having done it myself. The sides cradle the baby nicely, but it’s hard to hear what’s going on in there after you push in the drawer.
But everything’s fine now. The baby is sleeping. For all I know. And it’s time for me to go to sleep too. You parents know how tough it is to get a good night’s sleep. Am I right!?!? LOL.