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Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Communication. -Ish.

So before you were born, I did something I now regret, which was to shit-talk baby signing to no end.  Part of this was just that baby signing, like baby wearing and Baby Einstein, fashionable breast pump totes, elaborate arguments about the virtues of diapering this way or that, words that end in -agaboo or -amboree, toys for infants labeled as educational, Ethan Allen crib sets, vicious trash-blogging about co-sleeping or organic baby food and $5,000 strollers are all lumped together in my world as a Hipster-Yuppy Marketing Scheme, which like most hipster-yuppy marketing schemes (PBR being an exception, because I drank that well before it rocketed from the circles of white trashdom to the grubby black-fingernailed paws of exquisitely mulleted men in strange vests discussing Herman Hesse on their righteously decaying porches) just prompts me to declare that it is Asinine, whether it is or it isn't.  My semi-logical, if inexperienced, contribution to my own argument was that it seemed stupid to invest time teaching some little kid how to sign when he would learn how to talk a few months afterward anyway.  What's a few months? I demanded.  I channeled Shit My Dad Says.  The baby'll talk when the baby talks!  He's not going to sign us a ladder to the moon. 

What is a few months?  What's a few months of you screaming until the cows, off in a distant field, think that coyotes are attacking them and almost trample the house, while I juggle you here and turn you upside down there and wave things in the air, smiling and asking if this (finally, for the love of GOD) is it, in a falsetto of maniacal cheer?  Gurgling and cooing until, by process of acrobatic elimination, it is concluded that you want to hold a toothbrush while you get your pants changed, or that the two clay birds on the shelf need to be kicked out of the house for crimes we will never comprehend, or that you were hoping to hold onto Fred's ears while chewing on your vegetable book and banging on the piano and nothing, nothing else will suffice?  Yes, the baby will talk when the baby learns to talk, but in the meantime, Mr. Baby, I have to say, this is bullshit.   

You're trying, and I'll give you that.  But I think you could make a little more effort to be clear.  To explain my point,  I've compiled a temporary dictionary for us, and I think you'll agree, after perusing it, that it's somewhat inadequate for our needs:

Guh:  I once believed this to be the final syllable of ''dog'' and therefore to be rooted in modern English, hooray!  This belief was driven by the fact that ''guh'' is used incessantly in the presence of Fred, and was shouted loudly and enthusiastically while jumping up and down for several minutes when you saw a very large dog on vacation.  The fact that you were using dog for all animals lent credence to this theory, because babies are supposedly always doing screwy stuff like that.  Further observation, however, indicates that ''guh'' is a just an (unhelpful) mega-lemma used for anything that you like, from dogs to the wind to farting at the dinner table.

Yeah:  This is a false cognate.  While yeah might mistakenly be interpreted as a sign of agreement, it's meaning is much more nuanced (this is evidenced by the fact that you simply never simply agree).  I've narrowed it down to the following: ''I'm having fun waving this sock around,'' ''I want more,'' and ''I think everyone should keep singing.''

Mom: "'I have shat myself"' or ''I hit my head on that fucking piano again.'' 

Dadadadada:  Dad is soooooo great.  Dad this and dad that.  Love dad.  Where's the funny man with the big hair?

A ta ta ta ta ta TA TA:  Either,  ''I'm really getting bored'' or ''I'm planning on emptying the wastebasket for the next two hours, please put things back in it.''

te te te te te te  "'There is a small thing I am going to pretend to play with and then stick in my mouth,'' or "I really like this book.''

Phhhhbbbbt:  ''I am nine months old and making a joke.  My humour is too sophisticated for you.'' But - somewhat confusingly - also, "'I hate it.''

So, good buddy, I don't know...maybe you can see how things go wrong:

"'Mom,'' you say.  "Phhhbbbbbt guh.'' 
Is this, Mom, you're so charming and I like you? Or, I have a problem.  I pooped, but now that I think about it, it's nice and squishy, so never you mind?  Also plausible:  I hit my head on the fucking piano again, which I hate, but actually, is a great thing because now I'm hallucinating dogs. 

"'Guh,'' you say, ''yeah, yeah.'' 
This chicken is delicious, I'll wave it in the air.  But also, I like Fred's tongue.  Please cover me in beets.  Not impossible: I like that donkey.  Wave a sock at him so he sings.   

On and on.  It wouldn't be a problem except that you have a tendency (genetic origin unclaimed) to get really ticked off when people aren't doing what you supposedly want.  So maybe if you could add just a few more words, a few more sensible gestures?  Or - and this would really be ideal - stop getting these ridiculous fucking ideas into your head.  Your spoons don't need to be down my shirt, Fred doesn't want to wear a hat, and for reasons I just haven't the time to explain, Mr. Baby, toothbrushes and shit never, ever, belong in the same activity together.       

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