Friday, August 31, 2012

White Trash Field Trip

"What the hell was that all about?"


"You two packed me into the car with enough baby supplies to run a day care only to go to the grocery store to buy $5 worth of crap."

Yeah, I bet that seemed silly.  See, Juniper, it was a 100 degrees outside and 105 in our apartment.  Your mother and I were going a bit delirious and babbling incoherently.  As we learned recently, our AC is worthless.  Normally under these circumstances we'd have gone to our favorite watering hole, Jax Bar & Grill on Brand...

...for pints and “corn flaked” chicken tenders in their blissfully AC'd establishment.  But we're on a budget at the moment, so we went to Ralphs Fresh Fare on Central instead...

...which oddly has an Old New Orleans theme.  Most importantly, it has the COLDEST air conditioning in the Valley.  Seriously, it's like a York Peppermint Pattie commercial in that place.  Your mother and I took you there to stroll slowly through the cool aisles so the back of our heads wouldn't feel like a wet mop for a few minutes.  And, well, there's another thing about this Ralphs Fresh Fare that's special...

"I smell something equally pathetic coming on."  

You're not entirely wrong.  It's one of the very few places in all of Southern California that your fat father can get Suzy Q's... absolute favorite wrapped confectionery in the whole wide world.  People on the east coast and other places can walk into any convenience or grocery store and get them.  But here in SoCal, it's a fucking treasure hunt.  Not unlike early American oil men, when I find a source I bleed it dry.  

"Are they really that good?"

My love, every human being's taste buds are unique.  And your father's go absolutely daffy for those two slices of devil's food cake with crème filling in between.  Others aren't impressed, like your mother.  She finds the lack of frosting insulting, while that's one of the reasons I love them so.  Let's throw up a nude shot...

Mmm mmm.  That Suzy has got it going on in all the right places.  How she entices me with her come hither stare...

"Alright, Creepy.  Keep it in your mouth.  So let me get something straight here.  Due to a lack of finances, we took a damn day trip to the grocery store for the air conditioning and Hostess snack cakes."

That's right.  

"We're fucking white trash, aren't we?"  

Yes.  I'm afraid so.

Jenn, Jeremy & Juniper

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Big Girl Rising

(WRITER'S REQUEST:  Before I bring in Juniper to have our next tête-à-tête, I must ask those of you at home to please refrain from mentioning the "Pizza Incident" in front of her.  Neither of us are over it yet and we're just hoping to move on.  Thanks for your cooperation.  Shhhh.  Here she comes...)

Hey there, Juniper.


How you doin'?


So everyone's really excited about those numbers you pulled down at the doctor's office this week.

"Who's everyone?"

Mommy, me and your grandparents.

(scoffs)  "You people get excited if I fart myself awake."

This is true.  But c'mon.  At two months, you're in the 90th percentile for weight (12 lbs 7 oz) and length (24 inches) and in the 95th percentile (gulp) for head circumference!

"Sounds like a lot of jive to me.  I could use some visual aides, dipshit."

Since you asked so nicely...  Basically, you're more likely to look like...

Chyna - 5' 10" 

Shakira - 5' 2"
(JUNIPER STARTS CRYING)  "I don't wanna look like that!"

Bad example!  How about this...  You're more likely to look like...

Gabrielle Reece - 6' 3"

Rhea Perlman - Legally a Dwarf
(JUNIPER STOPS CRYING)  "That's better.  But that woman in the purple undies..."

Volleyball great, Gabrielle Reece.

"Whatever.  She's tall but skinny.  I'm hitting the 90th percentile in weight and noggin too."

Good point, sweetheart.  So, you might also be looking at...



All tall, meaty and with gigantic heads.  


High five!

(Juniper leaves Daddy hanging)

"Not quite ready to high five assholes who would rather bake a pizza than ease my suffering."


"Big head, long memory.  You should know that, Kingdome."

I deserve that.

"Yes, you do."  

Friday, August 24, 2012

The Humbling

I'm leaving Juniper (and her saucy mouth) out of this one...

Just recently a coworker (and mommy herself) tried desperately to force me to admit that parenting was "wonderful, but hard."  I wouldn't budge.  Because that would've been a lie.  Wonderful, sure, but not hard.  Until last night all of my daddy/daughter alone time with this earth angel...

...had been nothing but Rodgers and Hammerstein.  Tears were easily remedied with a song, a dance, a bounce, a binky retrieval or the delicate delivery of a milk bottle left behind by Mommy.  "Maybe I'm just that good of a father," I thought to myself more than once.  "Should I do seminars?"

Last night, I got cocky.  Too cocky.

Mommy headed out to a bachelorette party.  She left Juniper well-fed with a full bottle warm and ready to go in the on-deck circle.  My plan was simple.  Make dinner for myself and sit down with Juniper to enjoy The Dictator, which I rented on Blu-Ray.

We did the same thing last week with The Three Stooges while Jenn was at an engagement party.  Sure, I didn't make myself an elaborate dinner last time, but what's the big deal?  Juniper is a sweet little girl, not a wolverine.  I can handle this...

I set Juniper in her Boppy and sat her on the kitchen floor.  I brought in my iHome portable speakers and let my iPhod's shuffling feature choose our musical fate...David Bowie's "Fame."  I danced for my daughter while I begun to put together the delicious elements of my dinner.  A summer salad with fresh peaches and a red pepper pizza.  This pizza was no frozen DiGiorno bullshit, either.  I got Fresh & Easy's dough...

...which needs to set for approximately 20 minutes before being immediately kneaded onto a perforated pizza pan.  Sauce, toppings and cheese are swiftly (yet artfully) applied before putting into a preheated, 450 degree oven.   It's a delicate dance.  I Fred, the pizza Ginger.  Let's just say the Dominoes people are HOPING I don't open a pizzeria.  They have stock holders to answer to...  Back to the scene...

Initially, Juniper was elated with her front-row seat for pizza genius time.  The still-setting dough allowed me extra minutes to do a tribal-like dance for her when the shuffle found "Egyptian Shumba" by The Tammys.  I was even chopping my salad while executing said moves.  I was in the Daddy Zone, quite enjoying this cloud nine.  

Clearly, I had elevated fatherhood to a new Michael Jordan had basketball.  I remembered my coworker for a moment and her insistence of parenthood's difficulty.  I pitied her, almost feeling guilty of my natural knack.  God can't bless everyone.  How boring would that world be?  There must be special people to look up to and be inspired by.  I was chosen.       

If it were a family comedy, this would be the part of the movie when the audience members whisper to each other, "This family is perfect.  Why can't I be this lucky?"  But as moviegoers all know, the high point in the narrative happens just before everything goes to complete shit.  

Immediately and without so much as a forewarning whine, Juniper burst out crying.  Stunned, I checked the room's entryways to see if a pack of coyotes had strolled in to incite this outburst.  No coyotes.  "And no problem, either," I thought.  I will simply reapply her binky.  It's always worked before.   

Juniper spit out the binky like it was dead mouse and continued wailing.  Clearly, she needed to be soothed, bounced and coddled.  

I checked the kitchen timer.  The dough had thirty seconds left to set before it needed to be promptly kneaded onto the pan.  I had to choose... daughter or the pizza.  

It'd be stock to site Sophie's Choice here, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't think of Meryl Streep's difficult decision at that moment and felt similarly conflicted.  I was very hungry and all the elements were in place to ensure that this would be a legendary pizza.  The enjoyment of The Dictator would be far less easy with a barren tummy and a spoiled dough going to waste in the trash.  

Talented people refer to this as "a challenge."  Michael Jordan was challenged during the 1997 NBA Finals when he woke up sweating buckets and throwing up the day before Game 5...what history remembers as "The Flu Game."  What do great ones do?  They say "fuck the fever," find the strength and drop 38 points in Utah and win the game.

"Don't puke on me, dude.  Puke on The Mailman."
This great one (me) chose to accept his challenge as well.  Placate the crying Juniper and still make the pizza.  "After all, she can't die from crying," I thought.  "It'll toughen her up."

I chose poorly.  Very poorly.  

Making that pizza was like trying to diffuse two ticking bombs made by two different madmen.  I would pick up Juniper and bounce her twice...then quickly put her down to knead for ten seconds until Juniper's shrieking would start tearing through my inner ear membrane.  I would pick her up again, getting olive oil and flour all over me, her and the floor.  Juniper never stopped crying.  This inhuman dance of the damned continued through the tomato sauce, vegetables and cheese...and lasted about 20 minutes. 

By the time the pizza was in the oven, I was soaked in sweat and my life-expectancy was a few years shorter.  The kitchen looked like both bombs had actually detonated.  I was shredded.  

Worst of all, my relationship with Juniper had grown a "dark moment."  A little girl's cocky new father ignored the warnings of a million great mothers and tried to do way too much.  I should've just heated a can of SpaghettiOs...but no, I tried to drop 38 points on the Jazz with a 104 degree fever.

The pizza was great, for sure, but the experience was soured by the red-eyed glare I received from Juniper for the rest of night.  "You chose a pizza over my tranquility, you fat, selfish fuck?" her eyes seemed to be saying.  I think I apologized and kissed her some 120 times before Jenn finally came home to find her husband drinking Scotch and her daughter never happier to see her.

I am no Super-father.  I am no MJ.  I am just a nitwit with a few good dance moves who has a helluva lot more to learn about being a great father.  

And The Dictator totally sucked.                           

Monday, August 20, 2012

Peace Offering

Hey Juniper.

"Hello Daddy.  What's up?"

So, I feel bad about the whole Star Wars t-shirt thing...

"Yeah, so bad you bought me ANOTHER one.  Spotted this in the hamper the other day..."

I had bid on it BEFORE you gave me shit for the first one!  And you're not supposed to retract bids on eBay.  It's considered really rude...

"Yeah, right.  And once again that grey cookie is soaring down a rainbow.  Are you sure that's supposed to be a spacecraft?"

Yes, the Millennium Falcon is the spacecraft and is absolutely no cookie, I assure you.  Did I tell you how fast it made the Kessel Run?

"Moving on..."    

Right.  Anyway, I wanted to get you something on eBay that was girly, cute and by no means a gentle shove towards my boyish tastes...

"Okay.  Your heart's in the right place.  Did you find something?"  

I did.

"Are we gonna see this olive branch or yap about it all afternoon?  I got a boob appointment in 20 minutes."


"What am I looking at here?"  

A baby giraffe swimsuit and matching cover up!  

"Mmm.  The swimsuit there has the baby giraffe print, I see."


"And is that a baby giraffe on the cover up?"  

Sure is.  


Uh huh.

"This is fucking adorable."


"Like, I'm gonna be cutest baby in the water, by far."

I know!  There's nothing your daddy is looking forward to more than taking you to the pool for swimming lessons.  It's going to be a major daddy-daughter event.  

"I'm genuinely touched.  You finally used your noodle."

Aw, thanks.  

"When do we leave?"

For what?

"To go swimming.  I'm psyched.  Let's do this."  


"You know I'm gonna love it.  You see how much I love bath time.  I don't cry or nuthin'."  

I know.  

"Get your swim trunks, tubby.  We're burning daylight."  

You can't go to swim lessons until you're 6 months old.  

"And remind everyone how old I am now."  

2 months.  

"Excuse me.  Don't try and distract the people at home with an adorable picture of me slumbering.  We're having an argument here..."

We are?

"Yes.  Why would you get me all excited about swimming in my new baby giraffe swimsuit when I'm not allowed for four fucking months?"  

I...I wasn't thinking.  

"You don't think very often, do you cupcake?"

I guess not.  

"You know what all of this is?  A great big COCK TEASE.  Ain't that right, cock teaser?" 

Hey now, young lady.  Where'd you learn that term?

"I've heard you throw it around once or twice.  I'm not using it incorrectly, am I?"


"What's it mean, exactly?"

What was that?

"I understand that it refers to someone flirting with a person into believing they're going to get something and then abruptly fucking them over, but what's the 'cock' in the equation?"  

Um.......this is the cock.  

"It's a damn chicken?"

Yes.  A boy chicken.  And in the old country, promising a boy chicken his favorite food, raisins, and then not giving them to him was considered the worst form of "teasing" ever.  Thus, cock teaser.  

"Fascinating anecdote..."

(rolls eyes sarcastically)

"Now hide that swimsuit till I'm allowed to use it.  Got that, cock teaser?"

Yes, my love.    

Thursday, August 16, 2012


"OH.  HOLY.  SHIT.  What the hell was THAT!?

How do you feel, Juniper?  What did that feel like?

"Felt like a friggin' rainbow-colored condor with gumdrops for eyes picked my brain up by its chocolate bar talons and flew me through a magical paradise full of everything I love!  Colors!  Furry animals!  Catchy music!  Inanimate objects that talk!"

This is what you looked like while all that was happening...

"Was I hypnotized?  Drugged?  What?"

Sort of.  Mommy and I sat you down in front of BabyFirstTV for the first time.  

"And this is...? "

A television channel scientifically created by evil geniuses to render you completely spellbound.  For an entire half hour, you forgot about milk, your parents, general physical comfort, everything.  Basically, the fact that you're a human baby completely escaped your mind.  You were gone.  

"I remember...a handsome talking stick with incredible hair."

That was Petey Paintbrush.  

"I'd like to date him, please."

You can't.  He's a cartoon paintbrush.

"Too late.  We're dating.  And who were those three mice dudes?"

Tizzy, Tog and Toot...

"Yeah, they're hilarious.  I would like to live with them from now on..."

In the clock?  You're aware they live in a clock?

"Yup.  Draw up the adoption papers, please."  

But you live with your mother and I...

"Don't be selfish.  I belong with my boyfriend and the three mice in the clock."

(Daddy looks distressed.)

"What's your problem?"

I don't like this, honey.  For the last 8 weeks you've been obsessed with your mother and I.  But BabyFirstTV stopped that.  This channel stole your soul and...

"Yap, yap, yap.  If you want me to pay attention to this I'm gonna need you to morph into a talking crayon."      

I can't!

"Why aren't you more like the Color Crew?"

I'm better than a talking crayon!  I am your father!  My seed gave you life

"Good for you.  Could you ask Harry The Bunny to sing for me?"

No!  That's my job!  Daddy sings for you!

"I just feel like Harry The Bunny relates to me more.  He gets me.  You understand, right?"  

Dammit Juniper!  You know what Petey, Tizzy, Tog, Toot, the Color Crew and Harry did to you!? 

"Showed me a world of wonder beyond your feeble capabilities?"

No.  You were sitting in your Boppy lounger while you were watching BabyFirstTV...

Not Juniper...because Juniper's not Pan Asian.
...and that fucking channel had you so bewitched that you filled the entire seat with your own shit and didn't even know it.  You didn't cry at all!  You know who else shits themselves silly and has no idea? Heroin addicts!!!

"Oh yeah?  Well, I leaned it by watching you...!"  

(Daddy speechless)

"...and Mommy!  Parents who are TV junkies have children who are TV junkies!"  

(Daddy gasping and covering his mouth womanly)

It's true.  We love television.  We've created a monster.  

"No a monster.  An American."

"Now Daddy, hand me the fucking remote!"

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Eye Pollution

"Daddy, I don't even know what to say..."

Shit, honey, neither do I.

"There is one thing you could do."

What's that?

"Get me one of those lab eyewash stations to rinse what I saw out of my baby blues...and if possible, out of my memories too."

Alright, you're being a little dramatic.  

"Listen to the incident from my point-of-view.  I believe I have every right to be dramatic." 

Go ahead.  

"So there I was, having my peaceful afternoon nap, dreaming of fairies eating cotton candy, monkeys on roller skates, etc."

Do you really dream of monkeys on roller skates?

"No, but I'm trying to will it to happen.  Can you blame me?"

(Daddy laughing)  No.  We should all be so lucky.  

"Right?  Anyway, I tenderly woke up from my nap in the portable bassinet and realized I was in the bathroom.  I wondered why.  After looking around for a few seconds, I followed the sound that reminded me of the 'Spring Showers' setting on my electronic Sleep Sheep..."  

(Daddy cringing)  

"...and that's when my innocent eyes beheld, through the open shower door, A FAT, NAKED KOALA BEAR SOAPING HIS HAIRY ASS CRACK!"  

Not really Daddy's fat hairy ass.  
"I thought I was at the damn zoo!  But then the fat, naked Koala bear turns around and I realize it's my old man!  Hello nightmares!"

Honey, listen.  I'm sorry!  I had just gotten home from an opening shift at the bakery...and you know what I smell like after an opening shift at the bakery...

"Unfortunately.  It's like pond scum with a hint of croissant grease."

I didn't have time to shower before Mommy had to leave for an appointment.  So I had two choices.  Wallow in my own sticky stink until she returned or take advantage of your nap and have a shower.  I gambled and chose the latter.  Having that shower meant that I had to bring you into the bathroom with me and keep the shower door open so I could keep an eye on you.  In fact, I was being a good, careful daddy.

"You burned the moisture from my eyes!  My brain is scarred!  You call that 'being a good, careful daddy'!?"

Hey now, young lady!  I know I'm not exactly in shape or have an Adonis body or anything, but I like to think that the human body is beautiful in all forms.

"Sounds like exactly what a fat, hairy Koala bear would say."

(Daddy pouts, feelings hurt)

"Oh, get over it.  And say 'no' to a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips once in a while.  That may help.  But most of all, warn me before you put me in that vantage point again.  Let a girl get ready.  Then I can prepare myself mentally...and make sure I don't eat an hour beforehand.  Can we do that?"

Yes, honey.     

Sunday, August 12, 2012

RIP Grey Chonies

Today we lost a brave soldier.  On 7/2/12 at 4:04PM, this pair of Hanes boxer briefs took a blast from Juniper Catalino like a true patriot...

After several washings the ominous shadows of Juniper's shit have remained.  It was decided by the matriarch of the family (Mommy) that the plug had to be pulled.  Today the garment was laid to rest (in the trash) during a private ceremony for family.

Grey Chonies, born in Vietnam, enjoyed being folded neatly in the drawer where he could socialize with his fellow undergarments.  Hugging Jeremy's balls and ass was no picnic, but Grey Chonies never missed a day of duty.   He leaves behind three multi-colored brothers he traveled to America with in a 4-pack.  

Juniper showed no remorse when asked about the demise of Grey Chonies.  "He had it coming," she said with a sneer.  "And you know what?  I'm coming for his brothers next!  No chonies can escape my shit!"


Thursday, August 9, 2012

A Gift From Daddy

Junebug!  I bought you a sweet T-shirt off eBay!

"Let's see it."

"What the fuck is this?"

What do you mean?  

"What's the significance of a grey cookie soaring down a rainbow?"

Oh, that's no cookie.  It's the Millennium Falcon, a spaceship from Star Wars.  Captained by Han Solo and his BFF Chewbacca, it made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. 

"What in Sam Hill are you talking about?"  

Well, you haven't seen the movies yet.

"And you just assume that I'd love them so much that I'd want to advertise them on my chest?"  

Um, yes.  I'd have you watch them now, but the only two things that seem to keep your attention these days are Mommy's boobs and the crinkling of wrappers.  

"Tell me about it, then.  What is this Star Wars?"  

Okay.  The Star Wars universe comprises of six movies and some animated shows (that I don't watch).  But the first three movies are the only ones that are good.  On second thought, make that the first two.  The third one is actually fairly terrible.

"So...only two of the six movies are any good?  That's a horrible batting average."

But those two are really, really good.  So, Star Wars is a space western that follows the intergalactic battle between the Empire and the Rebellion.  Farm boy Luke Skywalker...

"Wait, wait, wait.  Does this have robots and shit in it?"  

They call them "droids."  And yes.  

"Dude, I'm a girl!!!  Space western!?  You know what two genres girls hate the most!?  Space and westerns!!!"

There's a princess.  

"I'm listening."  

Princess Leia is a member of the Imperial Senate.  When we meet her she's busy being a spy for the Rebel Alliance...

(YAWN)  "Is she wearing a pretty dress?"

No, it's more like a loose-fitting bed sheet.  


No, her hair is twirled in these cinnamon bun shapes.

(ROLLS EYES)  "Tacky.  Does she have a wedding?"  

No, but...

"Is there a prince?"  


"Forbidden love?"

Not really.  

"Does she go on shopping sprees, have tons of quirky servants and dance with singing animals?"

No.  She shoots blasters, is mostly abrasive and only gets dressed up for awards ceremonies.

"This is no princess."


"Please stop.  This is boy shit, daddy.  You're going to have to come to terms with the fact that I'm probably not going to like sci-fi, Weird Al Yankovic or New England Patriots football."

But I haven't introduced you to the Patriots quarterback, Tom Brady...

Pretty hunky, huh?

"If this motherfucker ain't a prince or emotional vampire, I don't give a shit.  Understand?"    

But the Millennium Falcon is soaring on a rainbow!  Girls love rainbows, right?

"Tell you what.  I'll wear it when I finger-paint."


"See?  I'm not unreasonable, am I?"

No honey.  

Monday, August 6, 2012

"Daddy, you and Mommy keep saying I have a mullet."

"What is this?  Can I assume it's a general zest for life or something like that?"

No, it's not something like that.  However, the mullet represents a certain zest for life.  This is a mullet...

Mind you, what tennis great Andre Agassi is sporting here is an extreme version.  However, you can clearly see that a mullet is an American hairstyle in which the back of the hair is far longer than the top and sides, often cascading to the shoulders triumphantly.

"Wait, that's his hair below the ears?  I just thought his fur boa was slipping off."

Nope.  That's an intentional coif. 

"It's off putting.  What's he looking at?"

Something shiny probably flew by.  Andre was never too bright.  

"Nor does he look it.  You said this lion with acne has a zeal for life?"  

Yes, he wore florescent green sneakers, did flashy camera commercials and was married to this woman...

"Wow.  She's pretty.  Am I that pretty, daddy?"

Juniper, you make her look like a filth-ridden mop.

"Correct.  Well played."  

I speak nothing but the truth.  Back to mullets, the hairstyle is best known to be sported by males of the American south who enjoy the delicate kick of Mountain Dew Code Red, tank-tops with eagles on them and dynamite.

"So, I shouldn't accept rides and/or free candy from men like this?"

No, if you so much as see anyone looking remotely like this within 25 yards of you, run and find an adult.  Screaming the words "fire," "rapist" or "al-Qaeda" is a good way to get the attention of grown-ups.   Actually, it's best to avoid any men who don't wear their shirt outside of a beach or pool setting.

"Noted.  Good tip."

Mullets are also popular with butch members of the lesbian community.  

"She doesn't look like the butch lesbians I know from The Real L Word."

Right.  Those are reality show/Los Angeles butch lesbians who look like...

...are incredibly hot, spend $200 on their mullets, have Anime and Manga tattoos and play bass.  

"So, you're saying mullets can be cool too?  Not just a sexual assault warning?"  

Honey, Captain Planet has a mullet...

...and he started the Planeteer Movement, loves solar power and recycles.  

"Feeling better about this.  How's my mullet stack up?"

Very well...

"Mmm.  Dare I say my mullet's on the classy side?  Not garish at all."  

Remarkably classy.  But you know what makes your mullet the greatest mullet in the world?"

"What's that?"

The kisser on the other side...

"Oh, daddy."'re just too fucking cute...

Friday, August 3, 2012

Juniper Strikes Back

(incessant baby snickering)

Are you still laughing about it?

"No.  Yes!"  (baby snickering)

I'm glad you're amused.

"Oh, I'm so amused.  Please share what happened with the people reading."

Why don't you, Juniper?  Since you're so amused by it...

"No.  I insist.  Way funnier if you tell it."

Very well, my queen.  Like most babies, Juniper loves movement.  However, as I learned the day after she was born when we danced together rather whimsically to my "Baby Time" playlist in the postpartum room, Juniper REALLY, REALLY loves movement.  Like, I know I have a lifelong copilot for endless rides on Expedition Everest, Goliath, Colossus, X2, Twilight Zone Tower of Terror and every other roller coaster and thrill ride we come along.

"Universal's Halloween Horror Nights too?"

We'll hit that when you're in your late-20s.  There's something about tatted-up juvenile delinquents from Long Beach dressed like cannibal clowns running at my daughter with whirring chainsaws that doesn't put me at ease.  I'm a horror fanatic and that place scared the shit out of me.

"Mrs. Brown, You've Got a Lovely Daughter"
"Well, I wanna go.  I'm sneaking out when I'm 17 and --"

Please, can we get through teething first?  

"Sure.  Proceed."

Thanks.  So, the other day, Juniper was being fussy.  Her fuss, as we've learned, usually means she wants her binky...

Yes, she's wrapped in my T-shirt.  I thought this broke the needle on the cute meter. hungry, tired but refuses to sleep, needs to burp or wants to be held and/or bounced immediately.  Surprisingly, Juniper doesn't seem to mind a diaper full of poop and pee.  She must like the squishy sensation.

"Is that a crime?  It's like having a spa in my pants.  Sue me."  

We're pleased you enjoy it.  So, on this special occasion, the only thing that would ease her crying is daddy bouncing her up and down at a pretty ferocious velocity.

"You can't hear me, but, when I want that I'm saying in my head 'Gimme the kangaroo action, bitch'."

You refer to your loving father as "bitch"?

"You do whatever the hell I want and keep coming back for more.  Sounds like a bitch to me."

Touché.  So, "Bitch" was giving Juniper "the kangaroo action" and, finally, a smile spread across her chubby cheeks.    

(baby snickering)

"Sorry, I'm getting excited.  Keep going."  

Little did I know that the kangaroo action was all part of a masterminded plot.  

"I'd been planning it for weeks!  Weeks!  Hit us with the punch line, Daddy!"

Moments after Juniper smiled...she puked into my mouth.  

(hysterical baby laughter)

"And you should have seen your face when I did it!  Payback for sticking my head in your sweaty armpit, bucko!"

That was an accident!

"Which makes it no less traumatizing.  Tell me, what did my spit up taste like?"  

Like breast milk and stomach acid, smart-ass.   

(hysterical baby laughter with some theatrical knee-slapping)

"I know I'm only 6 1/2 weeks old, but that is by far my favorite story.  Tell it again."