Mama Exceeds 5-Foot Distance, Trauma Ensues

Oh dear me, no! My dear readers, you need to hear this. This afternoon I woke up to a really upsetting thing, Mama was on the other side of the room. That’s like a billion micrometers away!

No let the blank stare fool you, I`m barely keeping it together.
No let the blank stare fool you, I`m barely keeping it together.

Brother Brendan’s been nice in trying to help me understand this place using dozens of sticky notes on my bassinet, but it doesn’t help. I can’t read and, even if I could, I still just want Mama.

Childhood shouldn’t be traumatic, should it? I’m sure almost no one carries any emotional baggage from their childhood, yet, here I am, many feet from Mama. This is total abandonment and it deserves a quick shout.

If you’re a newborn or aspiring infant, make sure you’ve sat your mama down and told her straight up about any anxiety you may have about being two, three, or dare I say even as much as five or ten feet away from her. Yes, she has to sleep and go to the bathroom, but it’s never required seperation before so why should this journey be any different?

Just because they cut the physical cord doesn’t mean we need to let the emotional cord be severed as well. We may not be able to close our hands on demand but that doesn’t mean we can’t cling to the things that mean the most, our families.

Memos From Mama’s Marsupial Tag-a-long

I’m coming up on my first milestone birthday when I’ll graduate from being referred to in weeks of age to months of age. Well, okay month of age at least… okay, month of age at most. But my age isn’t all that’s come a long way, I have too.

Lots more comfy than it might look.
Lots more comfy than it might look.

In the last month I’ve learned to suckle and it wasn’t as easy as I thought. Can’t push with your tongue, have to allow the nipple to stay under your tongue and you have to keep the darn thing in your mouth too. So many rules, but I think I’ve got them down. Whether it’s mama, binky or bottle learning to do it right can really suck.

I’ve packed on some weight too. When I was younger I went on a crash diet* and lost a bunch of weight. I’ve yo-yo’d from 7 lbs 2 ounces down to six on the dot and now I’m up to 8 lbs 5 ounces. I’m still skinny though as my spider-fingers show you, but I’ve been working out so it’s probably all muscle.

I’m stronger now than ever before. Oh, I can bob my head around (almost) all I want. I can leg-press about five pounds. That’s twice as strong as a month ago. Can you say you’re that much stronger?**

I know I probably still have a couple things to learn*** but that’s okay by me. For now I just need to stay close to Miss Mama and keep up my hectic schedule of eating and sleeping. Again I have to point out that this is no easy business. Not easy at all.****

Brendan’s Editorial Notes, Comments & Corrections.
* He calls it a “crash diet,” I call it bulimia. Kid was throwing up everything he ate. I mean, I’m no doctor or nothing, I just call it like I see it.
** I’m a little scared about his strength. If he keeps doubling every month like this he’ll be leg pressing five tons on his first birthday.
*** A couple? One? Don’t even get me started!
**** Sleeping ain’t easy? Try editing the journalistic works of a newborn into something we can publish and I’ll show you what ain’t easy!


Hoping Love More Rugged Than Love-Me-Nots

So I learned about this new love barometer called a Love-Me-Not. It’s a clever device readily available in any flowered bed anywhere outside. They are available for free as long as you have a speedy exit strategy.
Love is a strong emotion as everyone knows. It’s what parents feel for kids, parents ask kids to say they feel for them, and what kids feel for candy. You may call it a vicious cycle but I call it love and there’s very little wiggling around it. But is your feeling of love reciprocated? That’s where the Love-Me-Not comes into play.

Let’s say it comes into “use” rather than “play.” The word “play” implies it’s a toy or makebelieve, which it isn’t. This is a real device that really works as far as I can tell, and I consider myself a master debunksmith.

Find yourself a flower. It will work just fine as long as it can be rent to bits, so plastic is not preferred. Next, alternately declare that “he, she or it loves me” and that “he, she or it loves me not” whilst ripping it petal from petal. When all the petals (or leaves if you must) are haphazardly strewn about your lap and feet you’ll have arrived at your answer.

I wanted to see if mac & cheese loved me as much as I love it. What I found out was not only that mac & cheese doesn’t love me (I guess in part because I’m lactose intolerant) but also that Love-Me-Nots are very, very fragile.

Should you decide to test your love with one of these money back guaranteed devices be careful what you ask, how you ask it, and how much force you apply in the pursuit of truth. Love may last a lifetime or longer but these poor dismembered blossoms have half the half-life of quilted Kleenex.

Here I’ve demonstrated all the right things to do with a Love-Me-Not… except that last one where I ate it, that was just bad thinking on my part.


ATM Denies Monopoly Withdrawal

Technology inches incrementally along day by day. Technology costs money. And nowhere is the latest technology more present than in the banking sector. They’ve got all the money in the world, right? So with such a monopoly locked up, why can’t they meet my monopoly needs?

I can’t yet comprehend the value of a dollar, but I do love playing with spare change and Monopoly money alike. These are two things our bank’s ATMs don’t accomodate or even address.

I know when it comes to “real money” I ain’t got a lot. That’s why I skip the green for the far prettier monacled-man dollars and the fists full of coin easily found lying about. Why can’t the cash machines see things my way?

The customer’s supposed to always be right, right? If the problem is that monopoly transactions don’t pay well, charge me a hundred Monopoly dollars, I don’t even care. My own brothers approve and I’m sure the Parker brothers ain’t far behind.

Coinage equals swallowsome gumballs and coin-op stickers like crazy, but the real money-stuff is the (much lighter) paper kind. All I know of paper-moola is the morbid dead-President kind and the pretty, mono-clad Monopoly kind. Why can’t banks cater to more of that latter, prettier variety?

Smart money says invest in banks. It’s a safe-ish bet since they’re categorically made of money, but look a childish step further: Do they cater to, address or rebuke the kind of money you put all your faith in?

If I could take my fortune in my own diversified denominations, I’d take a pair of Catholics, a handful of Jews, and the balance in Presbyterians… but my understanding is obviously limited to what Webster tells me (and I mean Mirriam not Emanuel Lewis).

Spend your greenbacks willy as you will, nilly Nelly. I’m sticking to heaviest coinage and most attractive monocle-baldy rainbowbacks. And that is something you can take to the bank.