Sleeping

So you're tired.

I can understand that.  You have a busy day, after all.  Eating books, staring at the futon, holding onto things and putting them into your mouth.  Tummy time.  It takes it out of you. 

But Mr. Baby, you don't have one other goddam thing to do in the evening.  You don't have a job, you don't have any homework, you don't do your own laundry, you've never even offered to cook, you have no hobbies as far as I can tell, you can't even focus on a television set and you probably wouldn't know what the hell you're looking at anyway, you don't even have to get up and walk to the bathroom if you feel like you need to tinkle.  Not only that, any time you even look like you're thinking about contemplating the idea of considering possibly mulling over having the glimmer of the general appearance of someone who is about to look as though he may possibly be about to rub his eye, everyone in the house bursts from their relaxing times in a confetti of warmed blankets and whispers and machines that make white noise and rigged curtains and Sleep Sheep and soft gentle voices and no more TV - all done so that Your Comfort is delicately cultivated like a rare, fragile orchid, and so that you may drift off to a pacific slumber in a pile of soft fuzzy things and aquarium sounds and awaken only if you should so choose.

I have some news for you, Mr. Baby, and that's this: lying around chubbily grinning while you are ferried by an entourage of obsequious servants dedicated to your sleeping whims, untethered to worry or even the part of your brain that has the capacity for worry, occasionally pissing yourself without moving from your mountain of blankets, and having your poopy pants soothingly removed by said servants - often getting your belly gently rubbed and your feet massaged by gigantic thumbs and your hair gently tousled while you fall back asleep - this is probably about as good as it gets as far as sleeping goes.  In fact, you have a pretty sweet deal because everyone will do anything you want to get you to sleep.  Rub gently in circles on your lower back?  More pressure?  Oh less.  Oh slightly less.  No problem...rub more in the shape of triangles now, you say?  Oh you'd like your blanket heated up in the dryer?  Too hot now - worry not, we'll fluff it until it's cooler.  Too cool?  Back in the dryer it goes.  Oh, you're tired of the back rub and want a head rub?  Oh, you meant both?  We'll call someone in here to help right away.

Yeah, Mr. Baby.  If there's one thing I can tell you from life experience, it's this: this particular shit is not gonna last.

So instead of lying around boo-hooing and just. yelling. about how tired you are, if you're sooooooo tired from sitting in your crib and waving your hands at things, and being floated around the house like an airplane while you look at things, and sitting in your swing where you sit around swinging, and....what else?  oh, being placed gently in a tub of warm soapy water smelling faintly of lavender......if you're that tired Mr. Baby...why don't you just fucking go to sleep?