Feb. 1, 2010
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Sometimes you have to blame the baby
The Family Guy But the story I am about to share may establish a new low in self-deprecation, while also sullying the reputation of an innocent baby. It started with a field trip I didn't want to make. But My Lovely Wife was relentless and after three days of being essentially held captive by the barrage of gift-bearing well-wishers, even I was ready for a reprieve. “It'll be a real quick visit,” My Lovely Wife promised. “It won't kill you to be nice.” This is a common phrase lobbed around the Buckner abode. My Lovely Wife loves people, while I would rather live in a world with locked doors and no peep hole. But marriage is about compromise, so I exorcised my inner curmudgeon and agreed to visit her cousin, who'd just given birth to a baby boy. Having weathered the endless parade of googely-eyed baby-peekers bearing armfuls of various unidentifiable casseroles, I figured the new father could use a bit of consoling while strangers passed his progeny around like a swaddled hot potato. Unfortunately, Daddy was in hiding. So we gathered around the small, terribly quiet den, taking turns holding the precious baby while trying to maintain some semblance of small talk. The silence was broken only by Jellybean who, having apparently eaten too many Christmas cookies, insisted on climbing all over whoever was trying to get a closer look at the newborn, which she referred to as “Baby Jesus.” Having already held Baby Jesus, I took one for the team, climbed down on the floor and played with the 2-year-old hopped up on sugar and too many episodes of Yo Gabba Gabba! It was like wrestling a shaved baboon. But as I hoisted Jellybean over my head something slipped from deep within me mid-flip. In that silent room, it was terribly loud, like a tugboat in a kiddie pool. My Lovely Wife's aunt - a stern woman who could be easily imagined stalking the halls of a Catholic school whacking rowdy boys with a wooden ruler – turned an unholy shade of purple. The Diva cowered on the couch, while Kim, having just delivered a 7-pound baby, appeared oblivious. It was an accident the likes of which apologies would never vanquish. It required immediate action, stealth, level-headedness and most of all tact. So I did what any man would do given the gravity of the situation. I blamed it on the baby. Sure I felt guilty, but that would pass unlike the stain of humiliation that would hover over me like the Goodyear blimp. Every time I'd hear distant laughter during any of the family gatherings I am forced to attend, I would assume someone was retelling the legend of The Day Brett Cut One. So I threw Jellybean under the bus. For a baby to do what I did is cute, forgivable and even permissible. But if the truth were known, I'd be whacked on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper and forced to eat every family dinner on the porch until Baby Jesus was in college. Someday we'll all look back on this and laugh … only nobody will be laughing at me. Brett Buckner is an award-winning former columnist for the Anniston Star. He lives in Columbus, Ga. with his wife, daughter and stepdaughter. His humor column appears regularly in The Post. Contract Brett at brett.buckner@yahoo.com. |