Easy like sunday morning

It’s that special time of the week when a baby likes to read the real estate section of the Times and laugh at the articles about people hunting for apartments. Can you imagine that people really have to do that? Wow. It must only happen to people in New York. Quelle terrible, New York. Some of the apartments are apparently undesirable, forcing people to look at more than one. A baby does not look forward to such loathsome prospects as living in a building without a doorman.

This morning, a baby, who recently celebrated six weeks of breathing, was feeling pretty proud of herself, what with SLEEPING FOR EIGHT AND ONE HALF HOURS LAST NIGHT. In a row. This is better than I did since I kept waking up in disbelief. I think we wore her out by walking down to the folk festival. She enjoys reggae and public drunkenness as much as the next baby, although she is far more attractive than the next baby. People kept stopping us to see her, as it is apparently a novelty to tote a baby around in a sling. Mr. H was wearing it, which caused even more strange looks. She would smile beatifically as she lured in a victim, then seize her moment and casually regurgitate. That’s style.

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