Jenny From the Blog goes beyond any beauty pageant hopeful in the question/answer portion and not only strives for World Peace she finds a means to achieve it.  Please, hold your Pulitzers until you’ve read the piece.

Today, I was in a crappy mood.  I walked into Starbucks, as is my routine, with a sluggish gait knowing it would take my half-caf grande, no fat, no foam latte to remotely tackle my morning.  When I entered I realized 22 other people had the same thought and my crappy mood got exponentially worse.  An acquaintance two people ahead of me foolishly tried to make chit chat, which I quickly put a stop to with my terse responses.  Don’t try to talk to me right now lady, I’m pissy and I haven’t had my coffee.

 

Frankly, there should be a rule that no one talk to you in the morning coffee line, because we’re all in the same boat (barely awake and coffee-less.)  Unfortunately, the person in front of me did not get that memo or maybe she did, but she couldn’t read it because she was approximately 1 year old.

She was also being carried by her mother and therefore facing me directly.  The one thing about lines that you can usually count on is that people face front in anticipation of their turn, which means less talk.  Kind of like the way people stare at the doors of the elevator until it’s their floor.

It would be odd to have someone facing you in an elevator… and this was my current situation.

 

 

 

Sure, she was cute.  She had fiery red curls and sweet blue eyes.  But she wouldn’t break me, uh uh.  I was not smiling for anyone and some baby was not about to change that, even if she flashed me her own 4 tiny, little toothed smile.  Then out of nowhere she started laughing this adorable little giggle.  Clearly, she sensed my disdain and was taunting me.

Puhlease Baby, you think you’re soooo cute don’t you?  But not to me, uh uh.  I’m in a bad mood and your precious, I mean dumb little laugh does nothing for me… NOTHING. But this baby was not giving up; she was relentless in her torture.  She cooed and ooed and ahhed, but I would not crack.  It was my will against hers and I would win.  Finally, in defeat she buried her head in her mom’s shoulder.

Ha, Ha Baby, I’m the winner, yes I am… Wait, what’s that?  What’s she doing now? She popped her head back up and put her hands over her eyes, she wasn’t cowering as I had hoped; she was playing peek-a-boo. Nooooo, not peek-a-boo.

She opened her hands to show me her eyes and I clenched my fist ready to weather the storm.  “Peek-a-boo,” escaped from my mouth before I could reel the words back in.  She giggled and next thing you know I had my hands over my own eyes.  Then she giggled, then I giggled, then I smiled like a big pile of mush.  She was working me like a marionette.  Oh, she was smug one… cooeing and flashing her 4 tiny teeth.

My mood had picked up, even before gulping down my latte.  I wasn’t all daggers and evil thoughts, I was rainbows and unicorns.  Don’t judge me for crumbling.
No one and I mean NO ONE is immune to peek-a-boo.

In fact, I think we deal with the unrest in Libya and Egypt by sending cute little babies to the front lines.  What would enemy militia do if a Hummer pulled up and a bunch of babies trained in the art of peek-a-boo waddled out?  Hmmm?  Sure, you’ve probably been asked that before, but have ever given it any real thought?  What if we air dropped babies over enemy lines with their tiny little baby parachutes?  The campaign would be called “Drop Babies, Not Bombs.” Brillaint, right?  Sheesh, why do I have to come up with all the ideas? Gaddafi and Mubarak you better watch your step, chubby legged cooing babies with parachutes will be dropping in when you least expect it.

Okay, I’ll take my Pulitzer now.

For Other Articles I’ve Done on Hybrid Mom or to comment directly at their site: HYBRID MOM

COMMENT QUESTION:  Do You Got Any Better Ideas? and if not could I borrow your baby?