Tallulah Speaks

[Peering over edge of crib. Looking left, right, ensuring parents are fast asleep before delivering monologue]

Tallulah: Well, hello there. We have to be quiet. My folks are still sleeping, and they have bat-like radar for sensing if I even breathe funny. Which, I must admit, I do quite often. I like to snort, several times in a row as though I were one of those funny ladies being interviewed by Jessica on Murder She Wrote. "No, of course I didn't murder them in their sleep. (snort, snort snort,) I'm just a baby!"

This has been an unusual entrance for me. I was expecting the ticker tape parade the troops get after conquering some huge obstacle or foe. Well, that birth canal was HELL, let me tell you. And Mom didn't even let me pack a bag. It was just hanging out upside down sucking my thumb...or was that my toe? And then my waterbed just went "Floooey" and I ended up spelunking through her pelvis like Bear Grills in some bloody survival show. Luckily my rope held my weight and I made it through unscathed, though I was a shoe in for the youngest member of the Coneheads movie. Thank God for Doctors Without Cold Hands! I am prepared to give my college fund to these forward thinking physicians.

Dr. O'Neal caught me with Johnny Bench's catcher's mitt and tossed me on mom's belly before I had time to put my helmet on. Luckily she crowned me with a nifty knitted number, though the pink was a bit presumptuous. I prefer a mauve, thank you. My auntie Ali Bosie knows what I'm spittin'. Word to my Treestump.

But everyone was crying. Dad, (big wimp,) the doula, (just misty eyed,) Mom, (actually she was just in shock from my quick evac. I think she expected me to ask before leaving the house.) So all I could do was sit there looking around, waiting for the champagne and confetti. WTF people? It's been nine months. As if you didn't have time to prepare! Whatever. I'm so over it. Give me a tit.

So, here we are: I'm doing my best to get what's coming to me. That colostrum crap took way too much work to get. I had to claw my way through the nipple to get to the top shelf. But Mom's giving it up in a big way. I can eat whenever I want. All I gotta do is open my mouth, stick my tongue out a bit, and SLAM, I'm on the nipple. Areola firmly planted in the kisser. Mom makes some funny faces when I do, and I haven't learned the vocabulary she uses to express her joy at my buffet. Something about "Turrett's Syndrome... " I dunno.


Ooooohhh, I think I'll poop. This'll be a gas! Then, when Dad comes to swaddle and change that paper towel he calls a diaper, I'll pull a Chuck Norris and kick him in the chin, or grab Mom's glasses and toss them behind the changing table! Yeeeeaaah! This is livin!

Oh no. I think they're about to wake up. Oh, wait. No, they're just snuggling. Puh-leeze. I guess it's time to demand some attention. Let's watch Heroes, or better yet, that DVD of Akira Dad just ripped. That scene with the melting teddy bears is boss! I love the crotch rockets! I hope Mom doesn't sell her SV 650. I think that should be the start of my inheritance.

[Yawn] Hmmmm. I really can't seem to keep my eyes open. I might just... [Falls asleep standing up. Dad cracks open one eye.]