Would you trust me with your INFANT CHILD?
Looks like my summer job this year is going to be taking care of the infant downstairs while his mom goes and does make-up jobs for photo shoots. 8 bucks an hours cash, 5 hours a day, plus whatever health food I can steal. The pantry is mainly stocked with shit like "spelt flour" and "cranberry resin" but whatever.
I've done it this gig for four days straight now, and me and the kid got a pretty good relationship going already. I can put him to bed in five minutes flat, which isn't as fast as my little brother used to go down (instantaneously), but kicks the shit out of my little sister who never used to sleep at all. The best you could do with her was put her in some kind of baby prison (crib, walker, stroller) and let her stare at you while you went about your business.
We go for walks, we build shit out of blocks, we chase the cats around. My new catchphrase is: "It's not my baby." I'm not sure that's the right thing to say, though. People don't trust a young fellow with a child. I get strange looks from the Indian and Colombian mothers who I meet in the park, and if I had shaved my head like I was going to do this summer, I would probably now be in prison. I figure they will get used to me eventually, in my ripped up jeans and Ghostbusters t-shirt, carting around an infant, trying to teach him curse words before someone else does first, trying to think up what fun porn story I will write for our show on Thursday. Calling my friends. "WHAT'S UP. WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING? A SANDWICH? I'M HOLDING A NEWBORN BABY! GOT TO GO -- HE IS THROWING UP ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDER."
Note: all the baby toys around here were designed by a pair of folks named "Melissa and Doug." I know this because their signature is on everything. I guess they are some kind of crass, barren couple. Here's a fun picture of them I found online:
I've done it this gig for four days straight now, and me and the kid got a pretty good relationship going already. I can put him to bed in five minutes flat, which isn't as fast as my little brother used to go down (instantaneously), but kicks the shit out of my little sister who never used to sleep at all. The best you could do with her was put her in some kind of baby prison (crib, walker, stroller) and let her stare at you while you went about your business.
We go for walks, we build shit out of blocks, we chase the cats around. My new catchphrase is: "It's not my baby." I'm not sure that's the right thing to say, though. People don't trust a young fellow with a child. I get strange looks from the Indian and Colombian mothers who I meet in the park, and if I had shaved my head like I was going to do this summer, I would probably now be in prison. I figure they will get used to me eventually, in my ripped up jeans and Ghostbusters t-shirt, carting around an infant, trying to teach him curse words before someone else does first, trying to think up what fun porn story I will write for our show on Thursday. Calling my friends. "WHAT'S UP. WHAT ARE YOU HOLDING? A SANDWICH? I'M HOLDING A NEWBORN BABY! GOT TO GO -- HE IS THROWING UP ON MY GODDAMN SHOULDER."
Note: all the baby toys around here were designed by a pair of folks named "Melissa and Doug." I know this because their signature is on everything. I guess they are some kind of crass, barren couple. Here's a fun picture of them I found online: