No, we have a girl...no a human girl.

"DON'T EAT THAT DESIGNER HANDBAG!!!!"

"DON'T EAT THOSE DESIGNER CLOTHES!!!!"

"DON'T EAT THAT DESIGNER MAKEUP!!!!!"

Yesterday when my wife pocket-dialed me I became curious and just stayed on the line.  You know, an auditing type thing.  See (hear) what happens when I'm not around.  In retrospect I'm not sure what bothered me more:

1. That reading the transcript you'd assume we have a dog.
or
2. That my child's favorite flavor seems to be a Louis Vuitton designer handbag.

Babies don't make sense.  Not when you lived a civilized life prior to them.  Not when you owned designer clothes and your wife had enough designer purses to last through her 22 outfits that she'd go through on an average week.  But babies don't make sense because they don't have to and - ready for this? - that exact thing does make sense. 

See, if I could poop my pants when needs be, and not wear shoes, and have a complete inability to maintain balance AND still survive; I would.  It's logical.  Much more logical than buying designer handbags that cost as much as laptop computer.  Much more logical than working 100 hours a week in a job that is salary.  Much more logical. 

Babies don't get enough credit.  Everyone thinks that they are underdeveloped and lacking body control, but that is just ruse and they'd maintain that ruse if it wasn't for boys realizing they'll never get to own a gun like that, and women realizing they'd never get to a designer handbag sale.  Everyone has a dream, and for some of those people it happens to be eating everything in my house.  We call her Jessica the baby, but soon she'll be Jessica the teenager and things will be much worse.  Much, much, worse.