Somewhere in the three days it took us to celebrate Christmas, my house was transitioned from only seemingly mad to Peewee's Playhouse. If it makes noise and/or moves, Rinn had the pleasure of unwrapping it and introducing it to his toy chest. I'm going to go out on a limb here and make the assumption that everyone read the post in which I whine, obnoxiously and in great detail, about having to buy baby toys.
As it turns out, the toys of today are capable of great and unimaginable things. Rinn walked away with a mechanical cat that turns corners and avoids table legs and a partially stuffed turtle whose back displays a handful of major constellations on the walls and ceilings of his room. When I think about the fact that I was once infatuated by a stuffed dog whose velcroed tummy opened up to expose up to five puppies and Rinn pretty much got a robot kitten, I felt a little jilted. I have to assume my parents felt similar pangs of jealousy over the debut of Teddy Ruxpin.
Another one of Rinn's miracle toys would be the Mimicking Monkey. Seemingly harmless, it's a plush primate that can hang on the side of his crib and play a lullaby or a recording of monkey's horsing around in the jungle; which, if we are honest, a baby at play kind of sounds like a tiny chimp raising hell in the rain forest anyway. The Mimicking Monkey is also capable of recording a personal message, which can be played back over the lullaby providing what's supposed to be a soothing and familiar environment at bedtime. Emphasis on "supposed to be."
I had just finished changing another diaper and as a result, had broken a sweat and found myself in state of extreme frustration. With Rinn weighing in at around 26 pounds these days, a diaper change looks eerily like that scene from Over The Top where Sylvester Stallone arm wrestles that really hairy guy, except neither of us has a beard. The task is so difficult, I often do a legitimate victory lap around the apartment while Rinn sulks in the corner. Apparently he had grown tired of his losing record because while I was jogging thru the kitchen chanting "Eye of the Tiger" he took it upon himself to empty his dresser drawers, or at least the ones he can reach. I should note that I try not to make a habit out of swearing at my son and it's something I've been working on but I'm human, and I have a dirtier mouth than a sailor who is leaving their post to become a prostitute. In any event, my victorious lyrics turned to "Damn it Rinn, your bibs are [expletive] everywhere!"
I had been set up. Either it was cruel coincidence or Rinn had just staged his first covert operation because he had managed to record me cussing at him in a very exuberant manner using that now villainous monkey. Just to be sure, I clicked the play button. There it is, my voice immortalized, dropping the F bomb on a loop in unison with a tranquil tune. Perfect. Doesn't he know that only the police are legally allowed to record audio without a persons' consent?
Panic ensued and the monkey now plays "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, delete, delete, DELETE!"