When you become a doctor you take the Hippocratic Oath. When becoming an American citizen you take the Naturalization Oath. Babies have their own Oath. If they could speak, I’m sure this is what they’d say:
I hereby declare, I will be equal parts completely adorable and utterly disgusting.
I will respect nothing; All your worldly processions are fair game.
I will always have a full diaper when you are walking out the door; If I am dressed for a special occasion there is sure to be an explosive surprise.
I will spit up on you while you are swathed in your only clean shirt.
I will refuse all nutrients you present to me, while I attempt to digest everything else which may cause me great bodily harm.
I will not be ashamed to cry: in public, without warning, and for no apparent reason.
I will never be tired when it’s naptime, but I will be completely exhausted when you have something to do.
There will be moments of snuggling bliss, followed by flailing and headbutts without warning.
I will sense your complete exhaustion like sonar and insist on those times to be held, rocked, and sung to.
I will defy all the laws of physics and baby proofing, rendering your mortal chains worthless.
I will remember my favorite tune, book, or show and insist on your repetition of these things until you crack.
I will prevent sleep, showers and meals. I will start this trend the minute you take me home from the hospital.
I will crawl before you want me to, I will walk before you’re ready, I will run, fast and far.
I promise to grow up in the blink of an eye, turning a year old before you can say, “When did you get so big?”
I will be worth it, at least until I am a toddler.