Dear Mr. Baby:
Or should I say.....Mr. No? Like all of the words and ideas that seem to spontaneously generate in your mind while you sleep, like shi-ta ta, Fred, the inexplicably Jersey-accented bear, and socks (a robust and...eccentric vocabulary that can only hint at the genius within), you awoke one morning to declare that sometime while you were sleeping, you decided to find everything objectionable. Or perhaps you always did, but only just recently found the means to express your general disdain for It All.
Once again, we must applaud Selma Fraiberg for her attempt to paint a charming picture of the delightful toddler, sweetly and excitedly taking on his new world and cognitive abilities with charm and pluck. Children at this age, she advises, may adopt the word ''no'' as their favorite word, but we can all rest assured that they are simply declaring their intent to possibly veto something, if they should possibly decide to do so.
And when you read the book, you picture this adorable little bobble-head toddling around, saying no but still doing what you ask him to, in a sunny kitchen full of smiling people. And possibly those bluebirds from Snow White.
Whatever. You, Mr. Baby, do not only intend to possibly veto it, you do definitely veto it, and refuse to do it, whatever it is, until, in a mercurial and mysterious twist, you veto your own veto and decide that you don't like not doing the thing that you professed such an objection to doing in the first place, so not only will you not not do it, you're not doing that, either. Or anything else that is proposed, or nothing that isn't, or for that matter, any additional proposals or non-proposals, thoughts of proposals, or considerations of same.
So what are we doing, Mr. Baby? Who. the. fuck. knows?
And then there is.... The Tone. You are as dismissive as any high-powered Wall Street executive. No, you tell me, before my sentence is even finished, ending your declaration with pursed and resolute lips. You don't have time for this, you are saying. It's completely out of the question. It's almost a half-no, like you can't even dignify the suggestion with a reply. You can't afford the time to pronounce the entire vowel, the idea is so absurd and draining of your time.
It's a bit flippant, Mr. Baby.
And so here we are, a typical day:
Uh-oh, you dropped your milk on the floor.
No.
Do you want me to pick it up?
No.
Okay fine.
No.
So you want it?
No.
Do you want to get down?
No.
Do you want some more snacks?
No.
What do you want?
No.
Nothing?
No.
Okay then.
No.
I've had more realistic conversations with a chatbot, A.
No.
(Silence)
(Stare)
(Silence)
No.
Want to play-
No.
You're shoving a book in my hand-
No.
You want me to read it?
No.
(Silence)
(Shoving book in hand) No.
Okay fine. "Five little ducks-''
(Taking book and throwing it on the floor) No.
Okay, no book.
No.
Are you agreeing with me?
No. (Shoving book in hand).
Read -
No.
(Opening book)
(Taking book and shaking head)No.
So no-
No.
So I-
No.
(Silence)
No.
Sigh.
(Throwing book at head)No.
And don't think, Mr. Baby, that any of this is more charming just because you call your bathtub Babycakes.
