It must be weird to be a baby. Sometimes I think about this when bringing Asher to the car. He has no idea where we’re going because even if I tell him, most of it’ll be lost in translation. And he has no choice in the matter. He simply gets picked up and lugged around whether he likes it or not.
Then there’s meal time. Imagine random pureed foods, shoveled into your mouth without you ever getting to say what you’re in the mood for. No one says, “hey Asher, how ’bout some strained peas?” And since he can’t talk, it’s not like he’d really be able to object anyway.
I started thinking about this today when Asher woke from a very short nap and cried out. I tried the rush in, grope around in the dark, find the pacifier and shove it in his mouth approach. He didn’t go for it. And I was wondering how strange that would be, someone putting some plastic in your mouth every time you woke up. Annoying. He’s crying to say he’s done with sleeping and wants to get up and mommy or daddy appear, get his hopes up, put the plastic in and leave.
Babies also have to deal with uncontrollable flailing arms, randomly falling over, their legs being put up over their heads for diaper changes, people talking in strange voices at them while pinching their cheeks, and much more. Please feel free to add to the list. It’s fun.
It must be weird being a baby…
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Now people know how i feel.
I dunno… I think it would be worse to be a “strained pea.” I mean, what does that mean, even? Does the pea go through life being told his actually a corn? Misguided, irregularly shaped, pea-colored. . . tragic, really.
Babies ~ they got it made! ;)~
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