Here’s the deal. It’s time for a change of pace, so I’ve decided to feature my first guest blogger. I had planned to write all of the entries myself, but my friend’s daughter asked if she could write one and I couldn’t say no. Her name is Isabella (she’s trying to pull off one of these one name deals, like Cher or Dolph…okay, I’m the only one who calls Dolph Lundgren by his first name only but, come on people, who else would I be referring to? It works). And she’s eleven months old. I know what you’re thinking…actually, I just announced that a baby was going to be guest blogging for me – I have no idea what you’re thinking. But I’m pleased to have her and I think we’re probably setting some sort of record for the world’s youngest blogger, so that’s something. (Below is a picture of Isabella, on a conference call, hammering out the details for baby’s first blog). But I’ve already taken up too much real estate, I’m handing over the reins…
Hi. I’m Isabella. And what is the deal [is that how I’m supposed to start? Daddy, what was I supposed to say at the beginning? The deal? What about the deal? Dad? Never mind, I’ll do it] with putting me in my playpen all by myself? [Oh, sorry about the brackets, I haven’t learned to use parenthesis yet]. I don’t want to be in my playpen by myself. I don’t want to be anywhere by myself. But I really don’t want to be some place I can’t get out of.
And, parents, who do you think you’re fooling by calling a crib a playpen? You think you can put the word play in it and we’ll suddenly think it’s fun? Guess what, Daddy, you don’t have to complain about the bills anymore because they’re not bills, they’re playpapers. See? It doesn’t make them more fun.
We should just call them what they are – solitary confinement. Would you be happy in a cage? And it doesn’t matter how many toys we have if we can’t crawl more than four feet in any direction without hitting a wall. A box is not conducive to play time. [Conducive was my second word, after momma…not too shabby, eh?] [Interesting baby fact – all babies around the world are born with a Canadian accent, but it fades by the time they can talk…unless they live in Canada…I don’t really understand the specifics…I’m just a baby over here].
I think I can speak for most babies when I say that we understand your intentions – you want to teach us independence. You want to teach us to learn how to be on our own. Well, maybe you should take a look in the mirror. Business over at match.com is booming for a reason – nobody likes to be alone, no matter how old you are. This isn’t a lesson you can teach us by cordoning off our entertainment area. You can’t fight human nature with a pink, paisley plastic enclosure from Wal-Mart.
So, how will I do it? [Dad! Daddy! What did Uncle Makya say I should write at the end? This is the deal and how I’m going to do it or something…never mind, could you bring me a bottle?] Unfortunately, as a baby, I don’t have a lot of resources at my disposal. Mostly if something bothers me I just cry. Who am I kidding? That’s the only thing I do when I’m upset. I haven’t had any better ideas yet. What am I gonna do? Hire a mediator? Do you have any idea how hard it is to hire anyone when you’re a baby? It’s not easy. But, now that I have access to Makya’s blog perhaps I can get more people to listen. Maybe this medium is perfect to help babies around the world unite and find better solutions to our problems. Sure, crying gets your attention, but it rarely enacts real change. So, I won’t cry next time you leave me alone in my playpen if you agree to no longer leave me alone in my playpen. Deal? Great. And…daddy…what does a girl have to do to get a bottle around here?