Our son is eight weeks old now.
So far he’s a little disappointing as he’s not been willing to play chess with me yet nor has he solved world hunger.
However, he has started talking with people.
Here’s a conversation we had this week (I’ve loosely translated his baby talk for him):
Baby: “Your effete undertaking of supplanting my diaper was dilatory and ponderous.”
Me: “I can’t believe you’ve needed three diaper changes in 15 minutes.”
Baby: “Let me delineate your plight with the world’s smallest violin.”
Me: “…”
Baby: “That is a mighty resplendent shirt you’re sporting today. Oblige me to malign it with my feculence by obliquing it past my newly applied undergarment.”
Me: “Honey can you come grab the baby? He’s pooped all over my shirt and pants.”
Baby: “I promulgate my triumph as I am transposed to the anthropoid with nature’s sweet nectar.”
Wife: “I don’t think you pulled out the lining all the way when you changed him because none of it ended up in the diaper.”
Me: “I’m quite sure I did. If anything I was worried I ripped it.”
Baby: “Moa hahaha, I cannot be foiled by such a guileless contrivance. You substratal hominoids cannot possibly fathom my purview for pandemonium nor master my mystifying acumen.”
Wife: “You need to make sure you scrub that before you put it in the wash or it will stain.”
Me: “…”
Baby: “Don’t abscond me in this asperity you froward and unable worms or I will imbue upon you the rankest compound of villainous smell that ever offended a nostril.”
Me: “Are you putting your dress in the wash as well?”
Wife: “Yeah it needed to go in anyways.”
Baby: “Ha! In one fell swoop, I have rebounded you to the corporeal form most befitting of your calibre.”
Wife: “Here he’s changed.”
Me: “Now that you’re all clean, you’re going to fall asleep aren’t you? Aren’t you?
Baby (while dosing off): “Curses, my victory has been soiled again…”
