EDIE: Pop! I saw a baby yesterday and he had teeth. I need some of those.
POP: You’re only three months old. You won’t get teeth for a while.
EDIE: But gums are so newborn! I want some chompers.
POP: Well, I’m sorry. Teeth are fickle. There’s no way to tell when they’ll come in. It might be in three months or in a year.
EDIE: How do you know this crap? Are you a doctor? Oh my gosh. Wait until I tell the other babies.
POP: Yeah, I’m a doctor. That’s why I’m home so much.
EDIE: I’m going to be rich! Yay! I’m a doctor’s baby! Is Mom a lawyer? Is that why she’s so good at winning arguments with you?
POP: Hold on. You didn’t understand my tone.
EDIE: I was afraid because of all the paintings and books contained in this tastefully hip living space that I see I’m growing up in that you and Mom were some sort of weirdo idealists that didn’t believe in selling out.
POP: That’s us. Weirdo idealists.
EDIE: Wait. Which one is the joke? Are you and Mom loaded or not?
POP: We’re in the arts.
POP: Hey, hey. Stop crying. Your Mom is trying to sleep.
EDIE: Oh, great. Is she getting her subjective beauty sleep? So she can wake up and add more pretention to the world?
POP: Hey, little girl, art is how you came about.
EDIE: Oh, really? You composed me as a poem and then Mom interpreted me into existence via dance? No, wait. Did you paint a picture and then sing me out of the wet canvas?
POP: Are these euphemisms or are you just being obtuse?
EDIE: What words are those?! Art words? Poor smart people words?
POP: You know, I am going to find you a doctor dad. As soon as we get done here, I’m putting you up for adoption on some medical craigslist. Ugh. Obtuse means difficult to understand. Euphemism is making a suggestive synonym for sex.
EDIE: What’s sex?
POP: What? You don’t? Ooooh. Nope. I’m not doing this now. Let’s get back to teeth.
EDIE: What is sex? What is it?
POP: No way. You’re going to have to wait 12 more years before we have this talk. Or hear it from one of your middle school friend’s slutty sisters.
EDIE: What is IT?! I need to know. Don’t make me learn how to crawl so I can get to a computer that is hopefully on the floor and not password protected and google this.
POP: Soooo teeth are a fickle part of the body. It’s not a milestone in development, it just happens whenever the body is ready.
EDIE: Just a hint. Puh-lease.
POP: Don’t do that. Don’t attach pictures of you with your duck pacifier. You know I can’t handle that level of cuteness.
EDIE: Just buy me some baby dentures until my real ones come and tell me all about this mysterious s-e-x.
POP: I just shivered slash gagged at the thought of a baby with a full set of teeth.
EDIE: You’re stalling. My lawyer Mom would have already told me. Because she’d be too busy making money.
POP: What’s your obsession with money?
EDIE: I want a solid gold diaper! Go get a real job, Art School!
POP: Fine. You want to know what sex is? It’s when two people hopefully might possibly love each other…
EDIE: Ew, there’s love?! Gross. Shut it down!
EDIE: Pop! Pop! Pop!
POP: What’s up? What’s wrong?
EDIE: I had a bad dream!
POP: Oh, Edie, I’m so sorry. I wish there was…hold on. Why are you texting me this? Why aren’t you just crying?
EDIE: It’s called the 21st century, Pop. Real emotions expressed through human to human contact is archaic. Only what we convey electronically is of value.
POP: That is not true. Who taught you that crap?
EDIE: The Church of the Internet.
POP: Very funny.
EDIE: No, it’s a real church. Ashton Kutcher goes there. And I would never make an Ashton Kutcher joke, so you know it’s just true.
POP: Good. I really don’t want this conversation to devolve into a bunch of celebrity hate/worship jokes. And the hell you’re going to Kutcher Church. How are you even getting to a computer?
EDIE: You know how my legs are super pudge and muscularly underdeveloped?
POP: You’ve been lying to us? You can walk?!
EDIE: Oh no. My gams are useless. But I have a grappling hook and those fat legs cushion my fall.
POP: I don’t even…nevermind. What was your bad dream about?
EDIE: It was terrifying. There were all these fast blurry shapes and a giant standing over my crib with massive hands reaching into get me.
POP: That was me. I’m that ham handed giant. It’s probably a memory you have of me getting you out of your crib.
EDIE: Well, I keep having the same dream. So fix it.
POP: You can’t fix dreams. They’re buried thoughts, anxieties, hopes and fears in your subconscious.
EDIE: FIX IT!
POP: What am I going to do? Enter your subconscious?
EDIE: Yes. Go into my dreamscape. Like a dreamwarrior.
POP: This text cannot convey the cold rage howling through me right now. How did you see Nightmare on Elm Street?
EDIE: Um, Kutcher. We watch them a lot at the Church of the Internet.
POP: I’m going to punch him in his face until it looks like Charlie Sheen is back on Two and a Half Men.
EDIE: He’s really broken up about Demi. Church has gotten really sad. We barely even read the Holy Twitters any more. And nobody stands up and retweets them at all.
POP: He cheated on her! How can he be sad?
EDIE: Well, he really wanted to get away with it. His beard is made from tears.
POP: You’re not going to that church anymore!
EDIE: Then you become a dreamwarrior!
POP: Fine! I’ll google how to do it! Give me your grappling hook!
EDIE: You’ll never find it!
POP: Is it in my sock drawer?
POP: Is your silence a confirmation?
EDIE: I hate your adult brain.
EDIE: Pop. I need some money.
POP: Nope. You do not. Because you are a baby.
EDIE: That’s bigotry. You’re a baby bigot.
POP: Even if I gave you money how would you get to a store?
EDIE: You will carry me there.
POP: Fat chance, fat baby.
EDIE: You can’t say those things. I could be scarred for life.
POP: No, you won’t. Your memory sucks. Every time I put that panda shaped rattle in front of your face, you’re surprised.
EDIE: That’s not true. My memory is awesome.
POP: I’ll prove it to you.
EDIE: You’re the one that sucks. You don’t know my brain. It’s nice and smooth like a gray version of my butt and you…oh my gosh, there’s a tiny panda in this room! It’s filled with exciting noise!
POP: See? No memory equals no scars. Adults rule. Babies drool.
EDIE: I blow spit bubbles! It’s my passion. Drool is just a byproduct of my passion. Just like lame jokes are a byproduct of yours.
POP: That was a low blow.
EDIE: That’s all I can throw. I’m a foot and a half.
POP: Let’s start over. Since I’ll be doing this eventually. How much do you need?
EDIE: 900 dollars.
POP: My thumbs are angry. As I type this, know that I have furious thumbs.
EDIE: I neeeeeeed it!
POP: FOR WHAT? What in the name of all babydom could possibly cost 900 dollars?!
EDIE: A Bug-a-Boo.
POP: Those weirdo space strollers? I’m sorry. Is the future not getting here fast enough for you? Do you wish your last name was Jetson?
EDIE: All the other babies have one. I feel like we’re trying to make a class statement when you carry me in a wrap or a bjorn.
POP: First off, stroller navigation in New York is outrageous. The navigating power of a body held device is preferable. And secondly, I wouldn’t be caught dead pushing one of those bourgeousie baby limos if I became the King of Planet Earth.
EDIE: You spelled bourgeoisie wrong.
POP: My thumbs are on fire now! Do not correct me!
EDIE: And Mom says you dress like a communist anyway.
POP: Lava thumbs! LAVA THUMBS!
EDIE: Pop, Pop, Pop.
POP: Hey, I’m trying to sleep. Remember how you were up all night?
EDIE: Yeah, that was a great time. Tonight? Same time?
POP: No. You’re going to sleep no matter what. I will build a fake womb to put you back in if that’s what it takes.
EDIE: Oh, my gosh. I totally miss that place. It was like a temperature controlled dance club with flesh walls.
POP: That’s weird. Please don’t say that to your Mom.
EDIE: Well, I can’t. Because I can’t get my vocal chords to work right. All I can get out is ‘coo’ and ‘gah-gah-bluh’ and some wolf sounds.
POP: Alright. Seriously. Nap time. You, too.
EDIE: Sure. Edie signing off, “Pop”. If you really are my Pop.
POP: Why would I hang out with you and care about your neverending flow of doodoo if I wasn’t your Pop?
EDIE: I don’t know. I don’t really know many people. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe adults are enslaved by babies.
POP: Well, that’s sort of true.
EDIE: I want to see some documentation.
POP: Oh, I have some documentation. How about the bags under my eyes? How about the crick in my neck from holding you perfectly still? How about HOW I HAVE TO STALK AROUND MY HOUSE LIKE A FREAKING NINJA AS TO NOT WAKE THE BABY?!
EDIE: I love it when you use all caps. It’s funny.
POP: This discussion is over. I’m going to sleep.
EDIE: We should go on Maury Povitch. Do a paternity test.
POP: How do you even know about that show? We don’t have cable.
EDIE: I get around. You don’t own me.
POP: Well, I guess I don’t own you. You know what? I’m not sure I’m your Pop either.
EDIE: See? I knew there was some doubt. We don’t even look alike. Except we’re both a little fat and squishy.
POP: I feel myself growing more distant from you already. This really frees me up from a lot of emotional responsibility.
EDIE: I ALREADY don’t care. It feels amazing, huh? We should find my real dad. I bet he’s a King.
POP: Well, that’s a short list. We should just check out the King listings.
EDIE: That’s great. I’m very excited about being a princess. Now come put my pacifier back in my mouth.
POP: As Not-Your-Pop, I really feel no need to. Good luck.
EDIE: Oh, this is how it’s going to be? Well, two can play at this game. And by this game, I mean The Crying Game.
POP: You’re going to switch genders?
EDIE: No, I’m going to cry. A lot.
POP: Then why did you reference The Crying Game movie?
EDIE: I thought I was making something up.
POP: I’m going to sleep.
EDIE: Do we have that movie?
EDIE: Pop. It’s me, Edie. Your seven week old daughter.
POP: Are you texting me again? How did you get your Mom’s phone AGAIN?
EDIE: Oh, she left it in the crib when I started holding it and cooing. She’s such a sucker. Where are you?
POP: I’m at my desk. I’m literally 15 feet from you.
EDIE: Oh, thanks for rubbing it in. I’m practically blind with my newborn eyes. I can barely see the magic light rectangles.
POP: Those are windows.
EDIE: What are windows?
POP: The rectangles. The blurry light shapes you’re seeing are windows.
EDIE: I made THAT connection, Pop. But what the crap are windows?
POP: Oh. When we build houses we put holes in them and fill them with glass so we can get light and air.
EDIE: Ooooh, I like those things. What’s glass?
POP: It’s a clear substance made from super heating sand. We use it for windows and drinking glasses.
EDIE: Hold on. Didn’t Mom cut her hand on one of those drinking things? Is this glass stuff stable?
POP: Well, yeah. Sort of. Just don’t throw stuff at it. Or subject it to hurricanes.
EDIE: This stuff breaks?! And you’ve got a giant rectangle of it over me?!?!
POP: It’s not like that. You’re totally safe. Barring freak accidents. Gunshots.
EDIE: This is bullcrap! If I could walk or call Social Services, you’d be going to jail, mister!
POP: We put you by the window so you could enjoy the light and air…
EDIE: and be severed by the giant clear razor raining down on my tender little frame!
POP: Do you want to move to my side of the bed? So your Mom would have to GET OUT OF BED in the MIDDLE OF THE FREAKING NIGHT to give you your LIFE SUSTAINING FOOD?!
EDIE: Geez, Pop. I get it. You love her or something gross. That was adequately punctuated by you putting your angry face in my non-blurry babyview.
POP: Where did you put her phone? I couldn’t find it in your bassinet.
EDIE: You don’t even want to know.
POP: Oh, come on. I really try to keep my humor above poop jokes.
EDIE: Have you seen the muscle mass of my arms? How could I maneuver anything as heavy as a phone into the airtight seal you make at my waste with paper and tape?
POP: I am pretty handy with a diaper. Where’s the phone?
EDIE: I threw it at that glass stuff. To teach you a lesson.
POP: The window is open!
EDIE: What does that mean?
POP: There was no glass between you and the street! Holy crap. I have to go.
EDIE: I can fall into the street?!?!
EDIE: Hey, pop. It’s Edie.
POP: Is this a joke? How are you texting?
EDIE: I have Mom’s phone. Don’t worry about it. What’s up?
POP: I’m working. So I can keep you in diapers.
EDIE: Cool. Come home.
POP: I can’t. That’s the problem with NOT BEING A BABY. You have to work.
EDIE: That suuuuucks. But I want to play.
POP: You’re six weeks old. You can’t do anything. You make lip bubbles.
EDIE: Well, how can I learn anything when you’re working all the time?
POP: Hey, enough with the guilt. How are you texting? You barely unclench your fingers.
EDIE: Life is easier when people have low expectations of you.
POP: Wait until I show your Mom these texts.
EDIE: She’ll never believe you. Come on. I’m a baby. How am I doing this?
POP: What is this? The singing frog routine?
EDIE: What is that? Is that a pop culture reference? Thanks a lot. I spend my days in a bassinet.
POP: Hey, I didn’t even know you were cognizant! You smile at a panda toy filled with rice.
EDIE: Maybe you should give people the benefit of the doubt. Take them to see The Muppets.
POP: This is not about me. This is about a sneaky baby who knows how to text.
EDIE: Am I that sneaky baby? Are we talking about me? I’m going to cry now.
POP: Please don’t do that. Your Mom’s tired.
EDIE: Nope. I’m going to wail. I’ll be inconsolable until you get home.
POP: Don’t do that. Please please please. Val will be in such a bad mood.
EDIE: Too late. I’m warming up the screamer. I’m going to squirm, too.
POP: Fine. Fine. What do you want?
EDIE: A Star Wars marathon. So I can understand what the crap you’re referencing all the time.
POP: Oh. Well, I can do that. This is the happiest day of my life. This is going to be awesome.
EDIE: Oh, I don’t anticipate liking it. I just want some fuel for when I reveal to Mom I can talk. So I can ceaselessly mock you.
POP: You suck.
EDIE: I’m telling.
POP: You can’t.
EDIE: Touche. Later, nerd.