Cry Cry Cry

I'm starting to really envy my baby. Not because she gets fed on demand, mind you, and not because she can relieve herself whenever and wherever she likes (although that's nothing to sneeze at).

No, what I've really come to admire about young Apple Rosebud, and all babies, I suppose, is the ability to scream and cry at anything that doesn't suit her. Clothes, baby formula, a toy, sleep -- it doesn't matter. If she doesn't like it, if it doesn't immediately suit her at that very moment, she can shriek to the point of choking herself. She turns the color of a radish, the tip of her tongue wagging as if responding to a snake charmer, while she squeezes out teardrops larger than her thumbs.

If it weren't so ear-piercingly horrific, the sight really would be kind of fascinating.













Nevertheless, such episodes have really made me yearn for the ability to throw a balls-out, full-scale, no-ifs-ands-or-buts tantrum whenever something doesn't exactly suit my fancy. Just think of all the business meetings you could avoid, all the lengthy waits that could be chopped in half, all the family gatherings that could be aborted once touchy issues were brought up.

It would be paradise.