I suppose that excessive exposure to Dooce can have side effects.
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Baby is in my arms and stretches her hand as if to snatch something on a high surface. I hand her something safe (stuffed, soft, big, etc.) but she is not happy and keeps stretching her hand. I speak aloud:
- Mmmh... you don't like your toy. How about a rusted nail then? A shard of glass? A paring knife? The lid of a can? Coupla' pills would be just the thing? Would it make you happy?
And there's always someone present who says - Oh no, don't you give her anything of that. It might be dangerous!
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Another one. Baby or nephew falls awkwardly and cries dramatically, mostly out of surprise than any real pain.
- Oh sweetie, let me see it. Does it hurt a lot? Mmh? Do you think we'll have to amputate? No? That's good. Go back to play.
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Whenever I say things like that I feel I'm channeling Heather Armstrong, queen of misunderstood sarcasm and hyperbole.
