I spent part of Sunday with my friend Krispy and her 15-month-old twin sons, exactly what I needed to lift me out of a glum mood. The boys are determined toddlers now, and so going out with them is a bit like squiring around two extremely short, genial drunks; they're adorable and hilarious and OH MY GOD HOW DOES KRISPY GET ANYTHING DONE EVER?
I'd forgotten how parents of small children have mastered the ability to wolf down a meal at speeds invisible to the naked eye. I was still picking at my muffin top when Krispy had finished her breakfast while simultaneously keeping Thing 1 and Thing 2 from riding that nice old lady's oxygen tank or busting gleefully in on the occupant of the restroom. (Doors! So fun to open! And close! And open! And close! Opencloseopencloseopenclose! It's a toddler par-tay, woooooooooo!)
Damn, those kids are cute, though. They do wonders for my self-esteem--they're at that flirty age, so you engage them for ninety seconds and then they grin at you like you are the wittiest, most captivating and beautiful woman on earth, with the possible exception of Mommy. They're so pleased with you and your choices, all "Pumpkin bread? I LOVE pumpkin bread! You're awesome!" and "Look at this leaf! I picked it up for you! No, for me! Okay, for you! This leaf is awesome!" Granted, the actual conversation is a little stilted...but how much can you ask of someone whose vocabulary consists of Mama, all done, and Raaahhr! ("what sound does a lion make?") They're still better dates than at least 30% of the men I met through my last personal ad.
I envy the social realm of babies, a little. I mean...if I were to run up and start tonguing the glass front of the pastry case directly, I'd probably be strongly discouraged from returning to the bakery. And how many times have I wanted to slump to the floor in the Target aisle and loudly express my despair and ennui? Too many to count, right? Right?
A fistful of goldfish crackers can usually set me right, too. I'm just saying.