I might be invisible. I walk in a door and everyone beelines for the kid, which is fine, because I totally don’t need them to validate their love for me as an individual. I know how awesome I am. I think… but anyway, last night we had a big family dinner because the Jews escaped from slavery in Egypt a bajillion years ago. Also, according to my father, something about string theory (I call shenanigans on that one).
Slavery and string theory aside, no one wants to see me anymore, they just want to play with my baby. My own grandmother told me he’s my only claim to fame. Two seconds later she asked if I minded that she said that. I said no, of course not, look how cute the baby is. But secretly I died inside and longed for the days when I could drown my sorrows in a bottle of Bailey’s (because alcohol that tastes like alcohol is yucky). Ok, just kidding. I never really drank. I used to look forward to holidays because I loved spending time with my family, trying to get drunk. I inevitably failed and all my brothers made fun of me, but that was cool. It was just what we did. Now we play pass the baby. The baby doesn’t even have to pretend to get drunk to get their attention. What is that about?
I also noticed that I spent the whole evening obsessing over the baby’s sleep training and fretting that being up past his bedtime would screw it all up. It didn’t help that I tried to put him down to sleep, but then 20 minutes later I found my dad at his bedside trying to explain string theory and the greater meaning of life to him. Ok, just kidding. It was because my dad turned on the music and even though it wasn’t loud it woke up the baby anyway.
When we packed up to leave at the very late hour of 9pm my cousin hugged me and said, “I feel like I didn’t get to talk to you at all.” Um, that would be because she came straight in the door and grabbed the baby and then spent the next half hour holding him on her lap. He bit her finger and drooled all over her leg. If she had been holding me in her lap I wouldn’t have drooled all over her nice pants (can’t say I wouldn’t have bit her finger, though), but pfffftttt, whatever. I considered spilling my red wine all over her sweater and then blaming it on the baby somehow (i.e. putting my powers of invisibility to use for evil), but decided against it. I’m not that desperate. The baby’s cute and I’m not. I get it.
I think next Passover I will bundle up the baby in a basket and leave him in a pile of reeds on the doorstep. The story kinda started with a baby in a basket, right? (Right?) My alter ego is very religious, but I’m not, so I’m iffy on the whole story. I may have to pile bricks on top of him though, because by that point he’ll be mobile and probably won’t have the patience to sit in a basket on a doorstep.
Next weekend is Easter and I get to be ignored by a whole other family and religion. Wahoo!
I think it’s absolutely beautiful the way a new baby brings a family together. I guess my powers of invisibility are being used for good after all!
And I’m okay with this cuteness being my claim to fame.