OMG SMALL!

For those of you keeping track, it appears that Kinderbloggen has become an overnight success with the first post receiving 1 (one) comment despite not receiving any hype at all. I'll take all the credit in the world for that one, as it was no doubt my Joyceian prose that drew in Someone who is definitely not named Alice like a magnet. So to Not Alice, our first commenter, you win one million internets.

Ariane asked that I post more pictures of the stuff we received over Thanksgiving. Really there's only two more pictures, though. There are about five that look just like this one.



And we have the Cardinals thing (I cannot bring myself to call it a "onesie," which looks absurd when it's typed out).



This leads me to a point that we must all be in agreement on: small ≠ cute. To look at something, something that is virtually an exact scaled replica of an article of adult clothing, and squeal about its cuteness simply does not compute. Baby clothes are the Matchbox cars of apparel. I obviously lack the Mommy gene. Let me prove my theory:


Gah! Even momma tarsier thinks that thing is hideous. Thus, my theory is now law. That's science. Trust me, I'm a scientist, says it right on my diploma.

On a completely different note, I am already trying to mentally prepare myself for the brain-melting that will come with having a child. Regarding this, one person told me simply, "Dora the Explorer - 'I'm the Map'... aaaaaaand go."



Perchance this lad could lead me to the person who is, in fact, the map?

Can my mind handle such horrible things? I don't know. Beyond that, we're going to have to compound that with bilingualism. So there's going to be the Cake Song:



Which is going to get stuck in my head and I will sing all day at work, until I get home and get Tortensong stuck in my head:



My take? I think this is probably all part of some vast conspiracy, above and beyond the military-industrial complex. I think children's book authors, children's tv show producers, and the awful people who make "Kidz Bop" take kick-backs from marketers who sell pre-teen crap merchandise like Hannah Montana CDs or whatever is cool to 12-year olds LIKE OMG RIGHT THIS INSTANT in return for melting parents' brains while the child is still an infant. The belief is, naturally, that parents with melted brains will be much more likely to fork over $20 so your 13 year old daughter can go see "Twilight." Maybe the Mommy gene prevents this brain decay, but there is no way I will be immune. Ariane is already preemptively accusing me of being Good Cop in some hypothetical Good Cop/Bad Cop parenting universe. She'll probably be right, considering what Dora and friends will do to me. Enjoy the next couple of years, because those will be the last time you can communicate with me on an adult level without me drooling all over myself singing "I'm the Map!"

Prove me wrong. Please.