Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Swing = Baby Heroin

If you're having a first baby and are trying to decide which baby items you can skip in order to save some money, let me just tell you that a baby swing is NOT one of those items. Our Fisher Price Ocean Wonders Swing is like baby heroin. My kid is extremely good-natured 95% of the time, but all babies have periods of time when they cry for no apparent reason. Jake's time is usually from 7-9 PM, which is when you'll find me and my husband running through our mental catalog of baby-calming tricks. Do you want to be held? (Jake screams his answer, which is apparently "No.") Do you want to be walked around? (Jake's purple face contorts into a fresh scream.) Do you want to be swaddled? (Jake screams as he kicks the blanket into submission.) Do you want to look in the mirror? (No one, not even Jake, is cheered up by that screaming purple face.) Do you want to sit in your swing? (Jake answers with a peaceful snore.) It's amazing, and it's the the single most important thing you can get for your baby, with the possible exception of food. Already I'm dreading the day when Jake outgrows it. My friend Gena's daughter is now over 20 lbs, which is the weight limit for most swings. Gena said it was so sad when she put Fallyn in the swing one day and turned it on, only to hear the motor make a pitiful "rrrr...rrrr...rrr," as it labored unsucessfully to push the baby's weight. Fallyn just sat there looking dejected. I can't let this happen to Jake, and more importantly, to me. That swing is what's kept me from tearing off my own ears to escape the screaming. I've got to find a way to get an adult-sized, motorized swing that Jake can use well into his high school years.


Horsey said...

Hahahaah. If my mom had put me in a swing through my highschool years, I'm certain I would've turned into a more charming, well-adjusted, and well-spoken young man. Unfortunately she didn't so I punch strangers in the face, and use the word "fuck" in 30 ways everyday.

Yoda said...

Yes, I remember the good times, when my 16 year old was still little enough to enjoy her Fisher-Price swing.

She is getting her license soon, and I am fervently praying that she will not go from needing ("It's not a case of WANT, Dad, it's a case of NEED") to Internet-purchase the latest CD from the just-out-of-the-garage alternative rock band-of-the-week to a $50 a week gasoline habit so she can trundle her friends to the mall to purchase stacks of those dang CDs.

Come to think of it, that old BMW probably IS just a high-priced swing surrogate.