Baby books written for real families
The Toddler has a wind-up.
Standing in the living room he picked up a ball and screamed "ball" like he'd just invented the thing. He shifted his weight to his back leg and leaned forward, throwing the ball with surprising accuracy. Surprising because the ball didn't go behind him; accurate only if he was aiming for the television.
Then, as 2-year-olds do, he forgot he'd been playing ball and ran down the hall.
"What's he doing?" I asked my wife after the Toddler pulled a doll from his toy box and sat on the floor. She'd bought him a baby doll for a reason she'd tried to explain in some girl language that sounded like English but, trust me, wasn't English.
He pulled up his shirt and pressed the doll's face into his stomach. Then, looking like he'd done this before, put the doll on his shoulder and burped it.
"That is so cute," my wife said. "He's breastfeeding his baby."
Good God, I thought, suddenly second-guessing my effectiveness as Dad. What would John Wayne do? Then I smiled.
"That's great," I said. "We've got to write this in his baby book."
"Why?" my wife asked.
"Blackmail," I said. "For when he's a teenager."
Unfortunately, baby books aren't written for real people. The page title, "Your Son Breastfed a Baby Doll" was strangely missing from the book.
In the real world, nobody cares what day the baby had his first bath, when he slept through the night, or his first trip to grandma's house. Ranked by importance, the first trip to grandma's house is equal to the 30th trip to grandma's house.
No offense, Grandma.
But in any white-bound baby book (probably dotted with little pink flowers for girls, little blue footballs for boys), the first trip to grandma's will get an entire page.
Fifteen years later, your now-teenage son will accidentally pull his half-finished baby book from a box in the basement, look at it and won't even pause at "First Trip to Grandma's House."
Now, "The First Time Baby Barfed Peas" - that's a baby book entry. Your teenager will stop at that page and maybe even show it to his friends.
But that page doesn't exist in baby books. Neither does "Your Son Breastfed a Baby Doll."
So what's good about a baby book that doesn't include the truly human - by which I mean embarrassing - moments from a child's first years? Nothing.
That's why I'm writing, "Your Baby Book - A True Story of Poop."
Will this book ask for records of a first haircut, first vaccination, or first play date? Heck no.
When the Toddler is old enough to read his own baby book, he'll be more interested in his first:
- Explosive diaper.
- Gummy eye.
- Manly belch.
- Baseball game.
- High five.
- Diaper that smells as bad as Daddy.
- "Acting like Superman"-related injury.
- Clint Eastwood movie ("Bronco Billy" doesn't count). And,
- Proper use of the word "touchdown."
Wow. That's a great idea.* Don't forget this column is copyrighted.
*And by "great idea," I mean my wife came up with it.
