A POX ON BOTH MY PARENTS

With my first birthday almost upon me I am feeling pretty confident about my place in this family. I’ve made it this far and it appears unlikely that my parents will return me from whence I came. Still there is always that teeniest of doubt tickling the back of a child’s mind that maybe his or her parents could decide that their lives before were simple, carefree, easy and full of fun and maybe just maybe there would be an orphanage in your future. I recently decided to banish this doubt from my mind by conducting a scientific experiment. This scientific experiment is based loosely on the little game that God and Satan played on Job in the Old Testament. (Take heart Grandpa Coop, while mom and dad are not exactly believers, they are exposing me to the bible as great literature)

To begin this experiment I infected myself with a dreadful bug. This bug did exactly what I wanted it to… make me very sick. Not the sniffly, fussy kind of sick I have gotten before but the throwing up, not able to eat or drink, lethargic kind of sick. The kind of sick where your parents end up covered in the contents of your stomach for a few days straight. My parents passed this test of devotion with flying colors. They held me, comforted me and made me feel safe even as my stomach heaved. Little did they know that this was just the beginning.

The next phase of the experiment involved more specific testing of my mom’s devotion. The bug had served its purpose in my system so I sent it her way. The bug appeared to have an even worse toll on her. Many violent sounding episodes behind closed bathroom doors were followed by fits of moaning for Gatorade from the couch and bedroom. Throughout this entire phase of the experiment the only time my mom smiled, laughed or looked at all happy was when I would toddle by her supine form and tossed a grin, a giggle or even blank stare her way. I was quite pleased with the results of this phase. After being infected by her own son, my mom did not throw me out but instead found a teeny bit of joy through me. Pretty reassuring, but that maternal instinct thing is innate right? What would my dad do under similar circumstances?

I sent the bug his way next. He too was felled by this mighty virus. His response was different than my mom’s and had me a bit worried about my fate in the family. Instead of grousing loudly about violent stomach spasms and general indignities my virus had wrought on his body, he quietly retreated to his lair (the guest bedroom) and toughed it out in silence. He emerged some time later looking a little worse for wear, but still eager to sing songs to me and tickle me with his beard.

At no point during this experiment was an orphanage mentioned by either parent.