Somebody stole? our baby.? ? Or more accurately, swapped her in the middle of the night with a baby clone.? I mean, the baby in our crib looks the same, feels the same, even has that same sweet baby spit-up smell.? But that’s not our baby.
You see, our baby coos.? In fact, she makes the sweetest, most wonderful sounding? coos? I’ve ever heard in my life, coos that would melt even the most jaded of hearts.
Not this baby impostor.?
But let’s retrace my steps.? Last night, all was copacetic (I’ve wanted to use that word since that song by Local H gained popularity–you know the one—”And you just don’t get it, you keep it copacetic and you learn to expect it, you know you’re so pathetic.”) ((One thing about me you might not know yet—my brain is a toxic dumping ground for a vast number of? utterly useless and? random 80′s and 90′s songs, much to the awe and annoyance of my friends).
But I digress.? Back to our story—all was well, so I nursed our little girl, swaddled her, and held her per our nightly ritual.? As usual,? our? precious little angel? cooed up at me with big eyes and a big smile as I? tenderly cradled her in my arms? and laid her gently in? the crib.? I continued to listen to her on the monitor as she? peacefully lulled? herself to sleep with those lovely coos.?
And that’s it.? That’s all I remember.? Until this morning. This morning, when I heard the most disturbing of sounds.? There I was, in my nice, cozy bed, anticipating the first of the morning coos on the baby monitor, when—”SQUAWK!”? I almost peed my pants (which isn’t an especially novel concept around here, but still).? Not knowing what to think, I grabbed the closest sturdy object I could find? (it happened to be part of a sprinkler–have I mentioned my son’s fascination with everything landscaping?) and charged her room.? I’m not sure what I was expecting—maybe that a? ginormous parrot had? taken up roosting on her changing table? ? (because that’s such? a common occurrence in San Diego) or perhaps a velociraptor was occupying her closet (okay, so I never said I operated? on? a full brain? in the mornings).?
? I cautiously peered around her room.? Seeing nothing amiss (well, except for another decapitated toothbrush in the corner–dang it, Fergie!)? I then? peered into the crib.? There was my sweet princess, smiling as usual.? Nothing seemed peculiar.
Nothing, that is, until my daughter looked up? at me with her big,? adoring eyes, flashed? me a smile, and then opened her little rosebud mouth and said “SQUAWK!”
I jumped so high I nearly decapitated myself on her ceiling fan.
What the….?? Squawk?? SQUAWK?? My baby doesn’t “SQUAWK!”?
That’s when? it dawned on me—somebody had switched my baby.? It was just like a really horrible soap opera plot, only sans the part about the evil step-sister’s step-mother with amnesia who was separated at birth? from her twin and ended up cheating on him with her best friend’s? husband (who we all know in actuality is gay).? Somebody had stolen my? dove and replaced her with this toucan-wanna-be.
And I want my cooer back.
All kidding aside, we are growing to cherish the “squawk” as another adorable baby stage.? This tale of bird noises actually served as a lesson? for us, a wake-up call that the old adage of enjoying every minute with your children, because they grow in the blink of an eye, is probably so cliched because it’s true.? So, we will? treasure every wonderful stage as it occurs.
But I still miss my coos.Share on Facebook