The continuing saga of text messages between me and my 3 1/2 month old daughter.
EDIE: Pop, remember yesterday?
POP: Yes, Edie. I'm not a goldfish.
EDIE: Thanks. Another word I don't know. Could we keep it to my level, professor?
POP: I truly don't know what that is. You can inexplicably text with your pudgy little hands. You know who Siri Cruise is but you don't know what a grandma is. According to you, you've hailed cabs and have a better stock portfolio than me. Really, I can't second guess your vocabulary or I'd be spelling out goo and ga.
EDIE: See? I got all that. Except for grandma. What is that again?
POP: Me and your Mom have moms, too. That is a grandma.
EDIE: That's not possible because you are giants and that would mean there are mega-giants roaming this land and then exponentially bigger giants upwards populating this earth. I don't buy it.
POP: Let's go over this again. You will not remain this size. You will become 'giant' sized. Theoretically.
EDIE: When? Because I'm still baby sized. I saw that corn on the cob you were eating. If I tried to put that in my mouth, it would be like someone stabbing me with a yellow sword that tastes good with butter.
POP: See? Again, I'm baffled by what you know. And how do you know about corn? You can't have solids yet.
EDIE: I know that! It's not like you two don't rub it in my face all time shoving your pieholes full of whatever that crusty stuff filled with baked fruit is.
POP: That would be pie.
EDIE: See? I didn't even know piehole was a compound word. Ok. Enough of that. Now I have a question about humanity.
POP: The way you phrased that is making me nervous.
EDIE: Ok, so you and Mom are humans, right?
POP: Yes. There's not like a human certification test but if there was, I think I would pass it and your Mom would ace it.
EDIE: And I'm a small human, according to your theory. Are there other small humans?
POP: Yes. Those are other babies.
EDIE: Well, those "babies" suck. They never text me back and none of them want to bet on the ponies.
POP: I'm just going to ignore that you're gambling before my anger compels me to come over there and replace your binky with a stern look.
EDIE: I'm soooo scared. If I started to cry, you'd run to me like I was on fire. I've got you figured, giant man. I own you.
POP: Don't push me, baby. I will sell you to the mob.
EDIE: Oh, big talk, Daddy. You love me so much, you'll turn into human pudding.
POP: I can get over you. We'll cry on the news like the Lindberghs. And then I'll spread out the 50 grand they gave me all over the bed and roll in it like the movies.
EDIE: Money is really dirty. Mom will be so mad if you germ up the bed with money.
POP: So don't push me, sweetheart. I've got my dark side.
POP: Oh, those are dogs. They're not human.
EDIE: Can dogs and humans have babies together?
POP: No. Though some humans have faces that look like they did.
EDIE: Was that a joke?
POP: You're a baby. You don't know what funny is.
EDIE: Obviously, neither do you.
POP: I'm calling the mob.
EDIE: I'm going to sleep. Where I can eat dream pie.
If you're willing to sell her, I know people.
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