Large Fierce Mammal

I wrote this for fun one night last week, while sitting in bed talking to Mrs. LFM during the nightly ritual of feeding the SFM before we all go down for the duration. I read it to her, and at her insistence, present it here.

Swaddling is an age old practice dating far back before the advent of duct tape. For those who have never read the New Testament of The Bible, swaddling involves wrapping an infant in fabric, say a suitably sized blanket, to prevent free movement of the arms and/or legs. While it might sound like something between baby bondage and a straitjacket to some, believe me, free movement of the arms in a creature for whom their activity is driven more by random firing of neurons than anything resembling intention, is a fast ticket to zero rest for infant and parents. Five minutes down and BANG! The kid’s awake and crying because something just punched them in the eye, and they look like they’ve been in a cat fight. In truth, until development decrees otherwise, babies exist in a perpetual state resembling alien hand syndrome.

Until, through familiarity, the baby comes to associate the practice with the pre-bed ritual, there will usually be resistance – and by that I mean screaming of the sort that is best described as proto-swearing. This limerick is the story of Juan, whose Mother attempts to implement an artistic, although unsuccessful, approach to swaddling. Maybe he’ll grow up to be an art critic.

There is a wee baby named Juan,
Who cries when his swaddle is on,
Though the skills of his Mammy
Include origami.
And his bedroll resembles a Swan.