The View from 25 Inches

On many occasions I’ve gone through my own personal morning routine here on the blog. Sometimes it’s been related in running diary form, and other times via a dress shirt button countdown. It’s a frequent topic of discussion, especially back in the days where I kicked off my day with 600 words of the funny, hot and fresh out of the oven. The easiest thing to do in this business is write about personal experiences, and if only three hours of the day has elapsed prior to putting words to your keyboard, well then, that’s what your audience will get. (Hence the number of bagel/donut posts over the last three years.)

But there comes a time where morning material runs thin in a man’s life, and he must look to other people’s morning routines for humor and entertainment. Now since Katie is enjoying her summer vacation and my co-workers don’t know about the YAB, I’ll have to go with a minute-by-minute account of the only other person I have a daily encounter with. So without further ado, here’s a best guess analysis of how my daughter perceived the first two hours of her day. (I will be putting in italics to speak from her perspective. Note: Clara does not think in italics.)

5:43 AM: Ok, and the eyes are open. It’s still pretty dark in here. And I still have no use of any of my appendages. Probably not time to get up yet. Eh, whatever. (Stares at glowing LED light from Baby Walkie Talkie HQ) Let’s see if I can find the tall stumbling one. “Hey You! Hey You! Hey You!” (Translated to read: Blaaaaaaaghg.) Ok, he should be here in 3…2… (Sees incoming pacifier) Gulp. That was fun. Zzzzz.

6:19 AM: Ah. Now that’s a catnap. Hey, it’s much lighter in here. I wonder if I can get up now. Wish I knew how to tell time. I’m sure Sports Center must be on by now. Eh, let’s do it. “Excuse me, father. Shall we watch MLB recaps in 40-second form now?” (read: Blaaaghg. Woogoo. Wagh.) Hi, Daddy. I was wondering-GULP. Just because you put this pacifier back in doesn’t mean I have to close my eyes. Wait, what are you doing – checking your fantasy team on the computer in MY room. Forget it; I’ll see you at 7.

7:03 AM: Third time’s a charm. (Dad removes SwaddleMe from arms and legs.” Free at last! Free at last! God almighty, free at last! I figured I’ll just flail and stretch for a few minutes while you make breakfast. Look at me! On my back! On my front! On my back! On my – whoa. Who is that? I wish someone would calmly explain the physics of reflective surfaces. I have got to find out if that other baby is here when I’m asleep. Creep-y.

7:07 AM: Up on the shoulder and wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

7:08 AM: Down in the lap and slurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp.

7:13 AM: I’ve noticed that when it’s time for the mid-feed burp, Dad comes over to the kitchen and now insists on burping me over the kitchen sink. Some would think it’s because he’s thinking ahead and wants whatever misses the cloth to end up in the plumbing. Others might say he does it so I have a nice shiny target at which to aim. My guess is he’s tired of have to scrub the carpet as part of his morning routine.

7:22 AM: Only three hours until one of those magical white bottles comes around again. How ever will I pass the time? If Dad’s in a hurry, he’ll pop in a Baby Mozart video. You know, the ones that play classical music over colorful images not too far off from a nasty acid trip? Yeah. Or he’ll grab a toy and watch in awe as I try and grab it with both hands. He does it all the time. Why is he so amazed when I do it?

7:38 AM: You want to see something amazing? Watch me put this foot in my mouth.