He’s short, fat, and mostly bald; he poops, pees, and barfs on us; he kicks our stomachs and punches our faces when we try to sleep; he screams like a banshee with a paper cut on its lip for no apparent reason; in spite of all of that, we love 3B.
Last night we thought that he was returning that love by gazing lovingly in our direction from his bouncy seat as we ate dinner at the coffee table. We’ve been eating there more often because the dining room table is frequently taken over by his new portable swing (California, here we come!), piles of laundry, dying houseplants, and so on. It has the added benefit of allowing us turn on the TV for three and a half minutes to see if the world outside our condo still exists. Sure, we can always look at the window and confirm that the local mall of disrepute, home to the wreath that ate Cincinnati and an As Seen on TV store, is still standing, but did Montana secede from the Union after waking up and discovering that they’d elected a Democrat? (I picture the entire state screaming, “It was just supposed to be just for one night!”)
So there we were, watching a recorded episode of The Office or something, when we noticed 3B’s gummy grin and adoring gaze shining in our direction. Our gaze had been drawn by the silence–his devotion was so complete that he was almost completely still, setting off none of the boop-boop, beep-beep, zoop-zoop sounds in his bouncy seat that react to his every stomp and flail. We marvelled at how cute he was, how adoring he was, how he didn’t react to our smiles at all . . . hey, waitaminnit . . .
I got up and looked at the scene from his perspective. Turns out 3B was transfixed by the photo of Rachel Ray on the back of the Triscuits box. Just to check, I picked up the box and moved it around the room; he followed it with his gaze everywhere I took it. So, take your pick . . .
3B has learned to
- recognize two-dimensional images
- develop attachments to objects
- objectify women
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