I did not want to get up this morning.  I wanted to lie in bed and look at my cat and dog sleeping at the foot of my bed and pet them with my feet.  I did not want to take a shower or type or dust the furniture or sweep the floor or make breakfast or walk the dog--and don't worry I have not yet done any of those things.  Never overdo, that is my motto.  I let my cat out, fed my dog some wet food, had some chocolate for breakfast and came over to the computer.  I skimmed a few newspapers and then discovered that 19-pound baby.  It was dislike at first sight.  19 pounds, baby?  You don't think that's overdoing it just a bit and yet you lie there and cry and want to be cared for like a regular infant?  Talk about presumptious, just outrageous.  You know 19 pounds is heavy, not to mention the very obvious discomfort you caused your mother.  You know talk about oblivious, baby.  You wanted to be big, you came out big.  You should get a paper route, not lie there crying helplessly.

You know lately I've been feeling like I just do not connect with people anymore, that it's just too difficult and blah, blah, blah who cares about me or what I think.  But when I saw this baby, I was just more disgusted and perturbed than usual.  Some empathetic people are probably reading this thinking that it's not the infant's fault at all.  "Maybe the mother ate too much, maybe the father is huge.  You know, who's to say but you can't blame the baby."  Oh but I can.  There's the picture of the giant baby and no photo of the mother or father.  Also I know a thing or two about big babies.  My first child weighed 9 pounds, 10 ounces.  This was 33 years ago before epidurals had caught on where I lived, and I was awake through the whole labor but drugged for the actual delivery.  It was hell, so in my imagination I tack on 10 pounds to this ordeal and I cannot help but dislike this newborn infant.  It's just too much.  He/she overdid it.

It may not be logical and it may not be right but I am going to nurse a dislike for this baby for a few hours to come, while I'm sweeping, typing, washing dishes.  This baby has done me a favor by becoming a focus of my irritation.