The Story About the Toddler, Volume 13.

The Story About the Toddler, Volume 13.
by Jeff Vogel

My daughter Cordelia is two months into her second year, and it's been two
months since I've written anything about her.

It's hard to find interesting things to write about a toddler. It's not that
she hasn't done anything interesting. Interesting to me, that is. She does cute
things all the time. But cute only works on parents, not other people. She does
something cute, and my wife and I spend a minute telling friends about it, and
then we have to make it up to them with an hour of penance talking about things
non-baby related.

For example. She can use two words together. "Bye bye, mommy." "Pizza good."
She can pick her nose. She can give a fair verbal warning before she craps in
the bathtub. She can play with dolls. She can imitate daddy ripping the throat
out of her Mickey Mouse doll and drinking its pretend blood.

She can turn on the radio. She can request that I draw a triangle. She can
point to her butt when requested. She can shove her hands inside her diapers to
search for treasures. She can imitate mommy saying "****." She knows that she
can rouse her father from a nap with one good punch.

You see? Who gives a ****? It's excruciating. The thing is, it's fun writing
about babies and one year olds, because they are bizarre, alien beings who
perceive the world in a fundamentally different way than we do. It's kind of
cool.

But toddlers are basically just stupid humans. And I don't know about you, but
I'm already around stupid humans ALL THE TIME.

But I'll write stuff about her anyway. It's easier than actual parenting.

* Four Days Of Indifferent Quality Care

OK. So my wife Mariann needs to fly to the other side of the country for a few
days, leaving me to watch Cordelia by myself. That's not a problem.

What was a problem was the attitude about this of pretty much everyone around
me. My friends, my parents, and anyone else who found out that I was watching
Cordelia alone got this funny look on their faces, and then they looked really
concerned and sympathetic and said something like "Oh. ... Are you sure you're
going to be all right?"

Which, roughly translated, meant "You do know you're supposed to feed her, and
bathe her, and let her keep getting air, right? RIGHT!?!?"

It was sort of refreshing, really. It's so rare that you get to see what people
really think of you. And it's not like looking after a two year old is so
difficult. I mean, sure, they're annoying, self-absorbed little tyrants. But if
they need something, they can actually say it. I don't care how bad a parent
you are. If your kid attaches itself to your leg like a limpet and starts
shouting "Eat! Eat! Eat! Eat!" for fifteen minutes, then you'll probably be
able to catch a clue.

But here's the funny part. I was a terrible parent after all. Not long after my
wife left, I got taken down by a cold.

For Cordelia, it was a one-girl reenactment of Lord of the Flies. I was on the
couch, expelling mucous and bloating gaseously. Cordelia watched TV, ran around
screaming, and poked at me with chopsticks. Every once in a while, she'd flip
through one of her books, and I would try to stay involved in the parenting
process by muttering the words on the pages. Or, what I think were the words on
the pages. I may have just been rambling incoherently.

And yet, despite my pitiful incapacitation, Cordelia lived. Which means that I
have exceeded the modest parenting standards set for me by everyone I know.

Eventually, I got better and took her to the zoo. That was where I learned that
I am allergic to zoos.

* And Then the Germs Entered Her Head

Brief conversation in the grocery store the other night.

Well Meaning Cashier: "How are you doing tonight?"
Me: "It's almost midnight, and I'm buying infant cold medicine. How do you
think?"
Well Meaning Cashier: "Ah."

Cordelia caught my cold. So I got to go out and forage for baby cold medicine.
And I can't believe how lame the stuff is.

When I was five, the best thing about being sick was getting dosed up with
Nyquil. Nyquil is 20 proof, which did quite a number on my frail frame. If
you're a five year old who really wants to get a buzz on, getting a cold is
really the way to go.

But infant cold medicine doesn't have alcohol. None at all. I checked every
brand. Cordelia was crabbing and refusing to sleep, and I wanted to give her
something to take the edge of. Heck, I wanted her out like a candle. I wanted
to buy cold medicine with a cute little cartoon drawing of a taser on the box.
I was looking for a brand that said "We will **** your kid's **** UP" on the
label.

So I just bought regular infant cold medicine. And I brought it home, and
Mariann informs me that the brand I bought will make Cordelia hyper and unable
to sleep. What the ****? Why would anyone ever make anything like that? When
your kid is sick, the LAST thing you want is for it to be more awake. So my
wife went out and got older kid medicine, mixed it with milk, and neutralized
our child.

Then I made a chocolate cake with Nyquil buttercream frosting. It was
delicious.

* Why I'm a Mediocre Parent

I have always known that I am a mediocre parent, but I've never really been
able to put my finger on the reason why. (Well, reasons besides writing this
mean-spirited little journal and putting it on the Internet so that tens of
thousands of people can read it.) But spending the weekend taking Cordelia for
lots of walks helped me figure it out exactly.

I have always been a very self-absorbed person. Not mean or selfish. But I
prefer to spend a lot of time in my own head. In Elementary school, when the
other midgets were playing handball, forming cliques, and interacting
meaningfully, I walked around the edge of the field by myself. This wasn't
because they didn't like me (although, Lord knows, they didn't), but because I
just liked to spend time thinking.

If memory serves, I was thinking about, should the slides and swings and other
playground toys come to life and become Dungeons and Dragons monsters, what
their game statistics would be. Let this be a lesson to you. Just because
someone is quiet and thoughtful doesn't mean that they are smart.

But now, I am the same way. When I put Cordelia in her stroller and take her
for a walk, I shouldn't be silent. I should be pointing things out to her,
trying to fill her empty brain. I should be saying things like,

"Look. That's a cat. Caaaaaat."
"That thing? That's a tree."
"Down there is grass. Graaaaaaaass."
"That guy who just almost ran us down in his SUV? We call him a 'cocksucker.'
Cooooooocksucker."

But I don't. I just take advantage of her silence during walks to think about
my work. Or movies. Or how much I hate our president. I pretty much disappear
from reality for the duration on the walk, only brought out of my reverie by
her sufficiently loudly yelling for food.

Don't get me wrong. I'll be a decent parent. I'm not mean. I don't thump her
cute little head. I give hugs. I make sure she is fed and changed. I'll be able
to feign interest in all that weird Pokemon **** she brings homes. But I'll
never be a great parent. I'm just not very engaged in the world.

****. Why am I down in the basement writing this? I should be upstairs sharing
in my daughter's limited, priceless toddler years. ****, ****, **** ...

* A Brief, Confidential Message From My Wife To the Person Who Was Staring At
Her In The REI the Other Day

"Yeah, look. I know my toddler is screaming as if I just jabbed my thumbnail in
her eye. You see, I'm trying to get her to try on this coat before I buy it,
and she's just decided that wearing a coat is the worst possible thing that
could possibly happen, so she's totally ****ing freaking out."

"I'm not being abusive. She's just like that. And if you don't stop giving me
that horrified look right this second, I'm going to throw her at your head.
OK?"

* I Can Completely Shatter Her Psyche

The best thing about having a toddler, at the head of a very short list of good
things, is that my wife and I can cause her to break down into devastated,
remorseful tears simply by raising our voices slightly.

Sometimes, we will be communing with Cordelia the way we usually do lately
(letting her watch us play Nintendo), and she will walk up and punch one of us
in the back of the head. And we will both say "No. No hit." and she will
completely collapse into tears.

(Note that we say "No.", not "No!" What I need is a punctuation mark that is
halfway between a period and an exclamation point. It's not a shout, and it's
not a regular, conversational tone of voice. It's the tone of voice you'd use
when you are dealing with a tiny, fragile human being who has just punched you
in the back of the head.)

So we say "No." in a slightly raised voice, and she completely collapses, and
we have to hold and comfort her, and all this time I am thinking, "This is
great!" I have never ever had so much power over a single human being. Truly, I
am like a God to her.

I don't abuse this power, of course. I have some human feelings. Plus, having
to help rebuild her emotionally delays what I really want, which is to nurse my
bruise and play Nintendo. But I have to enjoy it a little bit. Because, as I
understand it, someday she will be a teenager, and my slightly raised voice
will not have as devastating an effect as it does now.

* Jeff's First Rule For Playing With Toddlers

"Never play any game you aren't prepared to play 500 more times."

A corollary to this rule:

"No matter how much the kid likes it, never, ever do anything with it that
strains your back. Even slightly."

* More Parenting Wisdom

Grand Theft Auto 3 is a marvelous and hugely popular video game that rewards
violence, cruelty, and the most savage and barbaric behavior imaginable. I have
decided that I will not let Cordelia play it until she is ten or so. While the
subject matter is mildly questionable, as a professional computer game
designer, I feel it is my sacred parental duty to show her what a well-designed
game is like.

It's sort of like showing your child a sunset for the first time. And then
stealing a car and giving it to her so she can run over a prostitute.

I haven't yet come up with a good reason to show her Taxi Driver when she's
eight. But I'm sure I will and, when I do, it'll be really convincing.

###

(More? Sure! All previous installments are available at
http://www.ironycentral.com. Copyright 2004, Jeff Vogel.)


- Jeff Vogel
Spiderweb Software, Inc.
Award-winning fantasy role-playing games for Windows and Macintosh.
http://www.spiderwebsoftware.com