It's Hard to Get Anything Done besides Cleaning up Poo-poo

I google "baby" and this is one of the first images to pop up. WTF?

Well hello there. I see you were about to work on the computer for a bit. Before you do that, could you check my pants? I seem to have pooped them yet again.

Oh so you're disgusted. How do you think it feels to constantly have a stream of liquid waste flowing from your anus to collect in a diaper against your sensitive skin? All I can do is kick my arms and legs, asshole. If I could change my diaper, I would, believe you me.

Of course I'm going to occupy the majority of your time. I don't know why you would think otherwise. Mother carried me in her body for nine months; substantial resources were invested in my conception, rendering me rather important, so why shouldn't I be the focus of all your attention? Do you want me to turn out like the neighborhood hoodlums, smoking cigarettes on park steps, peppering my vocabulary with choice curses and slang? Then get off your ass and pick my ass up. I wish to be held. It soothes me.

If you could drag yourself away from the computer for a minute, would it be too much trouble to make sure that my brother does not wack me in the cranium with a dinosaur? I'd appreciate it. As I mentioned, you've already invested quite a lot in me, so it seems rather foolish to let me fall prey to fratricide. I'm sure brother means well, but he also frequently resembles a rabid Tasmanian devil, so it would probably be best to keep an eye on him at all times. Jealousy and all, you know. I'm sure you can keep up with the video game news some other time.

I forgot to mention that I am hungry. I know it seem inconceivable that something so small could eat so much and so frequently, but hey, I'm a miracle, don't you know? You seem to forget that fact when I wake you up in the middle of the night for a feeding. I expect to see joy on your face, not weariness and sloth. Come on, wake up. I'm your boy here. Didn't you always want a family? Well too late for second thoughts.

You best get Mother while you are up. She seems somewhat more competent than you. She never forgets to Vaseline my bottom. You forget to match the right socks together, for chrissakes. I'm really starting to doubt that you're going to be a good role model. Look at brother. He's dancing on the dog right now as though the thing isn't alive and ill-natured. You'd better do something about that before it all ends in tears. But first change my pants. Then get me a bottle. Oh, and hold me in your arms and give me your full attention. Or I'm going to grunt as loudly as I can until I erupt in a wailing fit that only Mother can soothe.