It’s been a big ol’ while since I wrote a sneer for you all. You may have (although you almost certainly have not) wondered: “Where is that Saxon? The one who is objectively the least interesting writer on this website but is probably Top 3, hair-wise?” Well, I’m here to answer that question: I have gone and done myself a child acquisition.
This child has been acquired by natural means, with my very own biological spumante the burbling origin of what has grown into, relatively speaking, something a whole lot bigger and less inclined to spill down the faded upholstery of back-row cinema seats when left without a vessel to ensure its putrid ascendance into the arms-and-legs creature known as a human person.
Now — you must understand the reason behind my mysterious disappearance, you will also understand what has become my responsibility, my obligation, the animal compulsion that lay dormant in the brain of every human, unlocked by the strangled cry of their freshly birthed first born child when slapped across the bottom by a doctor who is unsure why doing that is a thing but is still perversely glad it is a thing.
I must talk about my baby, to anyone who will listen. I must talk about the sounds he makes, sounds that are basically the same as any baby but that I will insist are extremely unique and contain special meaning that even the Gods have not yet revealed. I must talk about the way he sits up, with some help, something every child with a common physiology can manage given a handful of IQ points, gravity and the amount of physical exercise obtained from preparing a bowl of cereal.
Did you know that he smiles sometimes? And when he smiles, he does it with his mouth? Did you know that his hair, it is growing? Growing out of the very top of his very head? Did you know that babies, and this baby specifically, has hands, fingers, feet, toes — and that they are small, smaller than a regular, full-sized person’s hands, fingers, feet, and toes? Those hands, they hold things, and shake things, and the things that they hold, and they shake, they make a noise! Jingle, jingle they go. Those hands sometimes even support their own milk bottle — an objectively genius tactical decision made by someone who wants to drink some milk.
I have seen other babies, and yes, I am aware that they can do some things too. I have seen babies do things that my baby is yet to do. But what you must consider is that those babies are very stupid and the things they do are dumb, and unimportant. Another crucial consideration is that those babies are ugly, whereas my baby is very cute, and in fact could be on the box that contains whatever the thing which a baby does giant shits into is called in whatever country you are from. His beaming face imploring consumers, “please do your filthy business into OUR brand of plastic-coated cotton which will definitely end up putrefying in a landfill,” dooming our descendants to a future of figuring out how to extract it from the soil they farm in so they don’t die an excruciating death from 500-year old baby poops. It really is that handsome, which takes the sting out of the inevitable starvation of the human race.
For the rest of this year and maybe next year, who knows (parenthood is busy so get off my fucking back), I will occasionally be further elucidating to you the experience of having one these small creatures, and the wonders of being responsible for a very handsome, very clever, very charming biological liquid ejection machine.