My father wrote a blog recently condoning the exploitation of babies. He apparently believes that it’s okay to write about me, and my irresistible cuteness, to grow his Twitter following or something.
How disgusting is that? I am going to stand tall in my diaper (if I could stand) and say ‘We Are Babies. We Are Not For Sale.’
I mean that babies have been used to sell diapers, wipes, baby food, soap, and the very concept of innocence itself. Adults use images of us, and spin evocations of our yummy baby smell, our soft skin, and calm gaze to push all manner of products, attitudes and lifestyles. It just has to stop.
Since at six weeks old I am a sophisticated infant, I will not have a screaming fit about this, but instead will make my point in subtle ways.
For example, the other day I yorked a power-puke that propelled a blob of half-digested formula a full 18 inches to land on the expensive fabric of the Victorian couch. Score! Take that, dad and all other adults who exploit babies! We are not for sale. We will systematically wreck your upholstery until you get the message.
By the way, dad, nobody gets your snobby blog references to Polish authors who wrote literary masterpieces in English. Save it for the New York Times Book Review, if they would ever take any of your stuff, ha ha, especially after you made those dumb mammary jokes in your blog. Mammals are some of our most important animals, and it’s not right to make jokes about them. Wait, my editors are telling me that my dad was actually making jokes about mommy-parts, which is even more embarrassing. My file of Dumb-Ass Jokes My Dad Makes just got a whole lot bigger.
Speaking of mammals, while we were shopping at Target to augment my vast wardrobe of brightly-colored outfits, I noticed that most if not all the baby clothes have animals on them, like monkeys. Do you adults think we babies have a close kinship with other primates who poop at will? And what’s up with making us wear hats with bunny ears on them? You think we’re not cute enough as it is? Look, we do cute for a living. What’s with the slogans on our clothes, like I Love Mommy or I Love My Daddy emblazoned across our little chests? Are you people so insecure that you need to read that on us every time you burp us?
I’m pretty fed up. One day I’m smiling at people in the bank, and the next thing I know my dad has received an offer from Starbucks to put their logo on my pants. The endorsement will help him pay for stuff, but I am against this. Where do you draw the line? Soon babies will be plastered with logos like NASCAR drivers so their parents can pay for their pre-school education. My parents are already putting me in a competition to be the Most Photographed Baby in the World. Facebook will need to change its Terms of Service because there are too many pictures of me posted online and it’s affecting search results.
I say it’s enough already. We are babies, and we are not for sale. Our cuteness is used to sell stuff without shame, and since we are easily distracted by bright, shiny objects, marketers also prey on us at a tender age. We’re the salesman’s pot of gold at rainbow’s end. Get us early, you got us for life. Just the other evening, a representative from Disney climbed in the bedroom window and put some Madagascar DVDs in my crib. ‘Just something to get you started,’ said the disembodied voice in the dark. Yeah, you mean hooked. But it’s too late. I am already thinking about that teacup ride and I don’t even know what it is.
Do you have some thoughts about this? Please add some comments below, or I might cry.