Re: This Baby by Mary Jones

We don’t want this baby anymore. It’s too hard for us to care for this baby. He’s always crying, wanting to be fed, changed. We are wondering: can’t he change already? What we had in mind when we got him was different. Well I don’t know exactly. But it was more like running, tickling, fun. Not this.

We thought if we had this baby our apartment would become a house with a yard and we would somehow have more money. We thought we would like each other more than we’ve always liked each other, this little guy running around with his exact ears and my big lips. But the way it happened: we can’t tell whose eyes he has. This baby is not so great. We want you to take him now.

We can’t say for sure that if you take him now we won’t have another baby. Because the truth is, we’re not convinced the problem isn’t this particular baby. With another baby, maybe I would like breastfeeding. I don’t think this baby ever figured out how to latch on right. Maybe another baby would be a better sleeper, a better eater. It’s not just us; you’ve heard the expression “good baby.”

If you leave him here with us don’t expect us to love him. When we come home late from work, we may say hello to him before he goes to bed, maybe not. He has a nanny and she’s good with him. We’ve made sure of that. Yes, she’s teaching him how to talk. No, it’s not a language we speak.

When you come back, don’t come crying to us if he’s different. Oh, stop. Of course we’ll make sure that he’s fed, and yes, he’ll certainly always have good clothes. What kind of people do you think we are? But you see the way he smiles now when you come in the door? Well, he’ll stop doing that. Soon he won’t even look up. He’ll just keep playing with his trains. Keep pushing them around and around that same old track.