I’m changing Isaiah’s diaper. “Baby?” he asks. You might think he’s referring to himself, but when Isaiah says “Baby,” he’s referring to “Baby Beluga.” So I start to sing. “Ba-by Beluga in the deep blue sea. . .”
“No no no no no no.”
Now I’m confused. “You want ‘Baby Beluga’?”
Isaiah nods. “Baby bebulabadabadoba.” This is how he says “Baby Beluga.” It’s also how I say “Baby Beluga,” after eight or ten Scotches. I start to sing again. “Ba-by Beluga in the. . .”
“No no no no no no no. Baby bebulabadabadoba.”
We continue this back and forth for a moment, until it hits me. “You mean you want the Baby Beluga book?”
Isaiah breaks into that part laugh, part cry thing that babies do when you finally get it through your thick skull what it is they’ve actually been asking you for. “Baby bebulabadabadoba!” Isaac fetches the book for his baby brother, who accepts it gratefully and clutches it to his chest. “Baby bebulabadabadoba,” he says contentedly.
Do you ever feel that way about a book? Me too.