11182017Headline:

Babies and Crackers

There's nothing like a child's look of joy when they get what they want.

There’s nothing like a child’s look of joy when they get what they want.

I’m well aware I haven’t given may updates about Doc. So, before we go any further, please know he still lives with us.

Okay, that’s cleared up, so let’s talk about some notable milestones, which, to the untrained eye, are unimpressive, but to the trained eye, are passably interesting. As of 3/18/13, Doc Kellerman can:

  1. Touch his toes – This is interesting because some people can’t.
  2. Laugh hysterically at whatever I say – This is interesting because we’ve been biting our nails waiting to see if he was born with a sense of humor.
  3. Pull off a teeny tiny chambray shirt paired with sophisticated shorts – This isn’t interesting, but, Your Honor, in my defense, I plead cuteness in the form of the world’s smallest J. Crew model. If I can address the jury for a moment, I’d also like to beg for a small boat and a casual, Grecian backdrop to complete the look. The defense rests.

But, we’re not here to talk about whether babies can actually steer ships. No, no. That, they can do. If you want to give them something that truly challenges and inspires, break out the saltines. Oh yes, once infants reach six months or so, they love them some crackers.

Eyes glaze over.
Fat fists punch the air in triumph.
Super-human strength takes over, while baby heels dig into your abdomen and try to launch everything from the heels up into the cracker box.

This past week, I assessed the youngest and decided he was ready for a cracker. I handed it to him. “Here, small child. Have a cracker.”

“Ba.” He poked at it. (The first time you give a baby a cracker, don’t be offended if he doesn’t take it right away. In baby culture, it’s considered good manners to look at you like you’re a complete idiot.)

“It’s food. Sort of. Dieting models think so. Possibly sailors? Hermits. I hear hermits buy them in bulk.”

Eyebrow raised, he bit down.

“So, what do you think?”

There was silence and then, like a flame in and old timey lantern, something sparked in the back of his baby eyes.

“Doc?”

Doc’s eyes widened as he processed the unique combination of flour, water and salt pressed into the world’s most exciting shape. “Baaaaa.”

“Do-”

But, before I could question him further, a fat fist clamped down on my hand, the other latched onto another cracker and, as I looked on in horror, The Great Cracker Massacre of 2013 commenced.

We lost a lot of good crackers out there.

When future generations are told of the crumb-shed, the sheer magnitude of the thing will be lost on them. Doc won’t even remember the pure fury he employed, shoving squares in his face until his joy was unceremoniously cut short by choking on a stray piece, and making me feel like the worst mom ever.

Sure, he’s not the most delicate cracker consumer, but at least he can touch his toes, so there’s always a place in the circus for him.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.


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