Eating Your Young

by Ben Small



I think it was Bob Knight who once responded to a reporter’s question about how his son Pat played in a certain game with the comment, “Now I know why some animals eat their young.”

When I heard Knight make that comment ― I’m a born-and-bred Hoosier who loves his school and his basketball ― I said to my wife, “Wow! What a great comment. Maybe I can use that comment someday.

Guess what? Today’s the day.

As you may know, my son, his wife and L’il Ella, now ten months old, are visiting for a couple weeks. Now Ella is a dream, just the sweetest little girl you could imagine. And what a joy to play with her, babysit, and then when the diapers get dirty, hand her back.

But man, the paraphernalia that comes with managing a baby is daunting. Thank goodness I have a rich friend who has three young grandchildren. He let us borrow everything. My wife and I are at the point where we want to downsize. We’re giving furniture and hand-me-downs to our family members as fast as we can. Simply put, we’ve got too much stuff. Most people our age do.

But having a baby around is a stuff-magnet. Sure, bedding and playpens, or a combination thereof, and diaper and feeding stuff I anticipated. But the toys…

My god, the toys…

I had no idea I’d been so deprived when I was a child. I don’t remember having many toys with batteries. Most of my toys were big plastic bubble space helmets, which probably aren’t even permitted now by the Consumer Products Safety Commission, metal cars and trucks, spinning tops and pop-goes-the-weasel boxes. Oh yeah, I had a wooden map puzzle and some ABC stuff, and of course, a teddy bear, but that was about it.

And we were middle class.

I’d never even seen a C battery before this week. I thought there was a gap between the As and the D, that whopper that powers my ancient boom box and my club-sized flashlight.

What’s a C battery? Does that designation stand for “Child”?

I’m buying these things in bulk this week. They power the toys that have suddenly filled my house. And all these toys flash lights, make noxious noises, spin, tumble, or speak.

Who comes up with this stuff? Some nerdy goofball who figured out that blinding strobes, ear splitting sirens, banging drums, and spinning wheels attract even those with an attention span measured with a stopwatch?

Where’s my Xanax?

Some of these toys come with a seat attachment that allows the little ten month old to spin around the toy table like she’s on an amusement ride. Her little legs are moving so fast, she’ll be toddling in a week.

Another dose please.

These aren’t toys, they’re ingenious machines. Toy companies cannot be paying these toy designers enough. I’d always thought the purpose of a baby’s toys was primarily to keep them distracted, maybe teach them a little something, like maybe the identification of some sounds or pictures.

Hah! Baby toys today will prepare a kid for college and create Olympic athletes at the same time.

Oh boy. I can’t imagine what Ella’s Terrible Twos will be like. I’ll need a Xanax drip.

But I dodged a bullet this time. I didn’t have to buy all this stuff. I was able to borrow it from my friend. Trust me, I’m going to keep this friend close. His three grandchildren are slightly older than mine. I’ll be in the gravy borrowing train for some time. The cost of this stuff, for just one baby, mind you, might fund Detroit’s Big Three.

Thinking about this made me wonder about the next generation of toys, what they will do and how much they’ll cost.

Which brings me back to Bobby Knight’s comment...

All Hail L'il Ella

by Ben Small




Today is retribution day for anyone on two aircraft who’s ever flown with a baby. Surely you remember the wails as ear pressure adjusts, the embarrassed and helpless faces of the parents. Often the husband will try to pretend it’s not his kid making all the fuss, that he’s just as disturbed as every other passenger. But then momma will ask papa to take the baby, and papa’s cover will be blown.

I’ve been on so many flights that just seeing a baby in the gate area gives me hives.

And Ella can sing. It’s a good thing my son and daughter in law are flying coach. I’d hate for them to pay for all the first class glasses broken by her high notes.

Ella turned ten months yesterday, and she’s a bit advanced for her age. In addition to walking and running, she’s almost got the talking thing down pat, not that she knows what she’s saying most times. But Ella loves to practice. I took her to lunch once, and she cleared the room in about ten minutes.

And Ella’s large, really large. Ten pounds at birth and she’s been growing at a Godzilla rate ever since. She’s in the ninety-ninth percentile height-wise, but only the fifty-eighth percentile weight-wise, so in essence she’s the fifty foot baby running up and down the aircraft aisles.

So glad I’m not flying today.

This will be L’il Ella’s first visit to the desert, so we’re fully expecting her to eat her share of lizards and fall into a jumping cholla. We’ll be watching her carefully, of course, but that will be a full-time, four person job.

Babies are quick, you know.

For a week now, the wife and I have been trying to make our place baby-safe, which means everything we own has been stuffed into the garage. Our house looks bare, like we moved out in a hurry. I fully expect to go out for a walk and find squatters have moved in, thinking the place was abandoned.

But these are the trivial things. Our main problem is what do we do with a little girl? I had two boys, and I know what to do with boys. They love being tossed, wrestling, riding daddy’s back and playing with things that make noise.

What do little girls do? I don’t have a clue. And my wife’s no help. It’s been… uh… a few years since she was a little girl.

It was easy when I visited L’il Ella at her house. Her mother had all her toys set up and she just moved from one to another, chewing, throwing and babbling. But all we have are borrowed toys. We’ve got rich friends who have grandchildren Ella’s age. The grandkids aren’t visiting this week, so we borrowed from them. But we have no idea what to do with all this stuff.

Toys sure have changed since my kids were young.

And what about the Christmas tree? We didn’t put any ornaments on it, for fear of breakage or Ella pulling them off and chewing on them. But what if she decides to climb the tree? Or what if the cat climbs the tree, trying to get away from Ella? Is there room for me up there, too?

Say, do any of you have any free time? Are you available for babysitting?

I don’t think you realize the seriousness of this situation. I mean, my god, I have to put away my laptop. What will I do without a laptop? If you read in the newspapers the next few days that some guy in Arizona went bonkers and invaded a Best Buy store, it’s probably me, desperate for a laptop fix.

And cartoons? I haven’t watched a cartoon since I was a kid. Is Yogi Bear still harassing tourists?

Of course, we have no idea about provisioning. What do babies eat? There’s plenty of beer, but aren’t there laws against Ella getting too drunk? And I hate to mush up nachos. Kinda ruins the taste, doesn’t it?

Hopefully, Ella’s mommy can resolve some of these issues. If not, some of you may be getting anguished calls.

And by all means, if you’re flying today, take ear plugs. Put them on if you see a giant grinning baby slobbering up the aisle.