Behind Blue Eyes


Allow me to introduce myself: I am Baxter, son of Trevor, beget by Amy, adored by those few that see me awake.
It is necessary that I once again interject some fact into my father’€™s fluff piece. Turning six gives me pause to reflect on how the world has changed. Readers like you deserve to know more about the baby behind all the glitz and glamorous photos, for I am just a boy, like so many others. Well, that’€™s a lie. Other babies seem small. Puny even, having met my cousins last weekend. There was one bloke at the boob bar claiming to be 15 months. He couldn’€™t have had more than 2 lb 8 oz on me.

Squeeze my leg. I found a lost toy in my thigh fold just yesterday. You can hide your finger in my back arm crease. My gut is like a six-pack (poured into a plastic bag and laid on my belly).

I’€™m afraid I’€™ll be judged physically all my life. According to the UNESCO baby statistics, I’€™m a veritable monster. At his rate I’€™ll grow up to be 9’€™8’€, but a lean 191 lbs.

Neck strength has never been an issue for me; moreover, I can push myself up and curl my spine for a panoramic view of the nursery. I see other babies attempt this deft maneuver only to roll over. Ha.

I can sit up well, although the carpeting and pillows often jump up towards me. I believe I am learning to control this unnatural physical event solely with the power of my mind. I may be a mental ninja; I can speak cat; I have refined tastes, enabling me to lick anything; I prefer lounge wear; and can argue to the narrative paradox and symbolism in Dr. Seuss’€™, Cat in the Hat. I have a lot of brains: fact.

So I’€™m not simply a superficial beauty. There’€™s a person behind the piercing blue eyes, near perfect proportions (22″x22″x22″ at 22 lbs), and shiny, short-cropped hair’€”I’€™m going blond for the winter, so screw fashion conventions!

P.S. If dad insists on publishing rumours about my private parts again, I ask you all ‘€˜comment’€™ on how inappropriate the subject matter is. Leave a baby with his dignity, please.


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