Today is my birthday. Your Mom wanted to throw me one of her famous themed parties; a reggae party complete with band and themed food, tiki torches and about 60 of our friends. After gazing deeply in her sleep deprived eyes a few weeks ago I called it off. Frankly, you are sapping her life energy at an alarming pace. The way I see it, you owe me a kick ass reggae party some time in the future. I will add it to the list.
You really aren’t a difficult child on the scale of tales we have heard from other parents. You have a peculiarly binary nature. You are either completely content and smiling and devastatingly handsome to an extent that has us contemplating calling a Hollywood agent; or you are frantically screaming and impersonating those Martian creatures from Mars Attacks. Seriously, we are thinking about recording you alternating between barking and screaming so we can play it back for the satanic message you are no doubt channeling.
Today I was sitting with you on the front porch watching the blue birds feed their babies in the white bird house we erected this Spring. I found myself wondering if those birds experience the same alternating levels of hopeless frustration and ineffable joy of parenthood that we are. And I contemplated whether or not this question will have been solved by the time you have children. Perhaps by then we will have genetically engineered designer babies with little color coded dash boards on their bellies that clearly indicate the baby state. Then parents will know exactly the source of the problem and what measures to take to restore the baby to a docile contented state.
Maybe you will play some role in the discovery of this biotech. But perhaps your time will be better spent executing my design for babies with chlorophyll skin, so that we can convert energy from the sun directly to food, solving world hunger once and for all. Humanity waddling around naked and green, but nourished and free to pursue other means of fulfillment.
Give it some thought while you plan my 60th birthday party at Rick’s Cafe in Jamaica. Den every ting be irie
Live long and prosper.