It's interesting that with my 26th birthday quickly approaching, I've been thinking a lot about being a baby. I mean, not really being a baby, but you know, baby stuff. Oh, and Lord, not in a "biological clock" way. In a "I live with a baby and those things sure cry a lot" way.
The other day, when my six week old niece was crying her precious little head off, I might have said something like, "OMG WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH HER?" And really, I was only saying what everyone else was thinking.
It got me thinking about what could be wrong with her, as she was not hungry, wet, sleepy or dying, despite what the banshee noises she was making might have insinuated.
Guys, can you imagine being a baby and suddenly having an itch on your nose or half-way down your back?! There's not a thing you can do about it! At this point, you don't even know you have hands, you know? You just have to sit there and be itchy and possibly cry. Probably cry. Most likely, cry.
Also, can you imagine if adults still got gas like babies. Not even the part where they can't get it out themselves and have to be pat on the back to burp (seriously?) but like the part where burps destroy little Mae-fly's life. If she's got gas it's wracking her whole body. She squirms around and... can you just IMAGINE?
I'm not sure what my point is besides: thank God we're not babies!
Now that we've looked at the bright side, we've reached that time of the year where I sit and lament getting older. Because I watched the VMA's tonight and made references to Sisqo and Hulk Hogan. Because Barack Obama's girls are gonna start college, like, tomorrow. Because a group of us decided to go bowling last Sunday, and a mom came up to me to make sure I would be there, as the responsible adult.
And because as the "what do you want to do for your birthday?!" texts start coming in, I can't help but think the answer to that is, "cry in my boxers into a bottle of chocolate wine."
Unfortunately, not one of my friends has found this an acceptable answer.
Birthdays used to be easier. How about you all put on your pajamas and show up at my house with your sleeping bags?
Mark your calendars. I'll be waiting with nail polish, zebra cakes and a good movie or 10.
I like all of your faces.