Hey, baby. Yes, you cute, little, pudgy thing. I am on to you.
You are trying to exert your control over me in the only way your seven month old self knows how – you cry.
And when you cry I feed you, cuddle you, love on you, and change your diaper to make you into a happy baby once again.
Except that only works about half the time. The other half of the time, you scream like a pterodactyl until I let you onto the floor…and you crawl, crawl, crawl, crawl until you wrap those adorably pudgy fingers over my remote or cell phone, whichever one you can find first.
And the pterodactyl scream stops. And I am so thankful that my ears no longer feel as though they are bleeding that I am willing to sit hostage to you as you take over my technology.
Until, swipe! There goes my Facebook app.
Click! You just dialed someone I have not seen or talked to since college 15 years ago.
Slobber… Um, yep, that just resulted in an incoherent post on twitter, like this beauty:
Tap. You are taking me on a tour of all of the channels my TV has to offer. (Note: I am not a huge fan of infomercials or watching TV in foreign languages.)
Dear sweet (currently happy) baby,
I am taking back control of my technology. I understand it must be really fun to play with, but you need to understand that I pay the bills around here. I am your leader. (and mother. And food source.)
C’mon, baby, don’t make that face at me.
FINE. Here’s the remote.