Today was very hot, so the pool was filled with kids, many from the surrounding complexes. Every once in a while, someone would come out of the office and shoo away the interlopers and any unsupervised kids, and things would calm down for a bit, but not for long.
The youngest kid in the pool, though, was 2-month-old Michael, who was dozing in a baby ring while being pushed about by his mom. They were there for most of the day, because their AC broke and wouldn't be fixed until tomorrow. When they were getting ready to leave, his mom asked if I could keep an eye on him for a minute while she threw something away. I said sure - he was belted into his stroller and probably couldn't do much harm to me or himself in a minute. He'd been very quiet all day, but he had gotten fussy when Mom started packing him up for the trip home. She thinks he's starting to cut teeth, but I don't know anything about such things.
Anyway, I was telling him all about my yellow shirt, and he began to cry. I told him I agreed entirely, and he stopped fussing for a bit, only to start again. This time, I ran my fingertip across his fat little baby belly and made some very embarrassing noises. I believe that "oogle boogley" was in there somewhere.
His eyes got really wide, and he stopped crying and gave me that look that you can only get from babies and very old people. It says "What in the HELL are you doing, you freak? I'm a human being, not a stuffed animal!"
He calmed down after that, but he continued to watch me suspiciously during our subsequent discussion of the long-term ramifications of the Iraq war on American electoral results. It took his mom a while to deflate his floatie ring, which was nice, because it gave me a chance to fully understand his contention that, by making Deep Throat into a mythical figure, Woodward and Bernstein created a culture where a 21st Century W. Mark Felt wouldn't be able to accomplish today what he did 30 years ago. It was a fascinating idea.
And he's cute, too.