If you haven’t already guessed, while I’m figuring out how to film 3B walking while preventing him from opening the balcony door, eating my bicycle chain, or climbing onto the stove, I’m going to be stalling by presenting the more interesting contents of my “baby book.” Of course, after I get some footage, I’ll need some time to hack it together to the tune y’all selected. (Technically, I’ve stopped counting votes, but really, I’ll keep counting bribes as long as you want to send them.)
If you thought that the Dangerous Book for Boys was a hazard, that just means that you haven’t seen this yet. This is what Mom was given by the hospital when I was born.
“He likes ice cream, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street . . . fire engines, Pickles the Fire Cat . . .” er, waitaminnit.
What now? Who is that boy across the street?
God, how I long for the good ol’ days, when a man could go to work full of optimism and faith and return home every evening with all of that goodwill crushed into a thimbleful of dust that he would pour into his martini and watch vanish into a whirlpool of booze as he swirled his olives around the rim of the glass.
Yeesh. I’m less worried about what a boy is than what being a man in that time was like.
Tomorrow: Helpful tips for mothers–including when you can smoke in the maternity ward.