Screaming

Dear Mr. Baby:

I was aware that pretty much every aspect of ''having'' you would entail The End of Fun, as Fun was previously defined (in broad strokes, it entailed martinis in bed, smoke rings, glittering dirt, and, vaguely, black faux leather lounge chairs in dingy foreign bars, getting up at noon, hanging lights, and beer).  I was given the impression that it would All Be Worthwhile in The End, and also Very Rewarding.  It's only been two months or so, but I think we should discuss some things now before it gets out of hand.  I've noticed a very large discrepancy between my own definitions of Worthwhile and Rewarding, and yours.  Let me give you some examples (just a few) to illustrate my point:

Things I Think Are Worthwhile: Sleeping in increments that can be measured in hours and after the sun has set, Quiet times, Sitting down while eating.

Things You Think Are Worthwhile: Sleeping in barely measurable increments and largely during the day and screaming a lot before and after, Screaming really loudly about nothing in particular during Quiet times, Crapping a lot and screaming about it

I think we could reach some sort of compromise.  If you want to poop 15 times a day, far be it for me to stop you, but maybe you could agree to take it down a notch with the screaming about the fact that food is passing from your mouth through your digestive tract and out the other end, just like, my dear friend, EVERY OTHER HUMAN ON EARTH?  If you want to scream about some stuff, like wanting food or having crap in your pants, I think that's unreasonable but acceptable...but perhaps you could consider NOT waking the buried dead of aboriginal peoples in Australia because the car has paused at a red light and disturbed whatever bizarre conceptualization of the universe you have going there in your gigantic, poofy throne of a carseat while on your way to doing absolutely nothing at all?  And if you want someone to pick you up, that's fine to yell about, but do you really have to keep screaming until this person is leaping around like a overweight, washed-out circus performer on crack?

I know you're about to pull that, I-didn't-ask-to-be-born crap out, but just put it back in your pocket buddy.  I'm not asking for eight hours of sleep in a row here, or even any free time.  No.  Those things, like Fun, are in the past and we won't see them again.  I'm just asking you please, meet me halfway, and sleep from 11pm-2am, and maybe don't screech like you need a fucking epidural about every single thing...maybe show some discretion, like, things you really need (to eat), versus things that would just be nice (like an eternally moving car).  And maybe just deal with a few things, like sometimes you have to wear a hat for twenty seconds and you may feel a little uncomfortably warm, and someone has to wash your neck because you smell like ricotta cheese, and bowel movements are just a part of life...stuff like that.  It's just the goddam racket Baby.  There's way too much of it.

Mr. Baby, you are indeed quite cute, and I suppose that I love you no matter what (and if I don't, society and Catholic guilt will make me think I do), but a lot of tremendously fun vices and components of my general sanity have been tossed into the ether to make way for you and you really don't seem to realize that I don't have the longest fuse this side of Athens.  So all I'm saying, and I'm not trying to start some big fight here - it's just in the name of communication- is that maybe you could, just every now and then, give it a fucking rest?