We were still living with Lynnette’s parents when we found out Lynnette was pregnant with Madison. At some point during the summer of 2007, I purchased a onesie from Hot Topic which featured a cartoon fast food combo running for their lives, probably from someone like me, a fast food fetishist. I bought the onesie for Madison, but she never actually got to wear it because I lost it.
I think what happened is that I put it into a box when we moved out of Lynnette’s parents’ house and into our own. But, in typical Phil fashion, I didn’t remember which box. For a long time we thought we lost it forever, that perhaps I had accidentally thrown it away (because there’s no way Lynnette could have done it; she’s too organized). Then, when Madison was far too old to wear it, I found the onesie in a box in the garage. It would probably entertain you to know that the other things in the box were VHS copies of movies like Gung Ho, and my die-cast metal Voltron re-release. No, I don’t know why I do the things I do.
“Do you think Cole can fit the ‘Fast Food’ onesie?” Lynnette asked yesterday. “Sure,” I said. I mean, even if he couldn’t, we might as well put it on somebody, already. As you can see it’s a little loose in the mid-section (what an upset!), but the sleeves have elastic cuffs at the ends, so they are a little snug there.
“CHUBBY BOY!” I shouted when I propped him up on the couch. He smirked at me. I don’t believe in destiny, but it’s fitting (of course that was intended) that it would be my son – the child I never thought I’d have – to inherit the Fast Food onesie. As you can see, he is a voracious eater; I assume that his behavior is that of a young Galactus inhaling formula and boob juice until he’s old enough to start devouring entire planets.
Yesterday we had lunch at my parents’ house and Cole spent a little time with Declan, his slightly older cousin. The tentative plan is that they will play the middle infield together at some point. But their juxtaposition is startling. Though Declan is bigger and longer, Cole is much bulkier. Declan carries his 14 pounds well. “What’s that Cole?” I said in a pretended conversation. “Oh, that thing under Declan’s head?” “Oh, that’s a neck, Cole Boy!” When I commented that perhaps Declan was looking at his first baseman, Matty jumped in with “I don’t know. Looks like the third base coach.” I bounced Cole on my knee and waved his arms around for him. “What?!” I shouted. “They like scrap, dad!” I continued, speaking for my hypothetically wounded son. I pulled is arm and pointed it at Declan. “I going lick him and his faddah!” I shouted for Cole. Matty laughed and shook his head. I looked down at Cole, hoping I had stirred some competitive edge within him. He was smiling and blowing spit bubbles. It’s OK, boy. We still have time.