I Hate Pandas

Okay, so I don't hate pandas.

I just envy them a little.

Here I am, in the hotel room. I've been up for awhile, because of the time difference and having gone to sleep a bit earlier than usual. I've got CNN on in the background with the sound down.

They keep showing this tiny little baby panda and, I suppose, the mommy panda.

Can we talk about size differential? That baby panda is TINY. Miniscule. That panda probably sneezed and the baby panda was born. I doubt the mother even noticed it, as she is so massive and the baby is practically lilliputian.

Then I look over in the bed next to me and realize what the size differential on our baby might be. (The first person to note in the comments that "at least I have child-bearing hips" is gonna get whacked, be forewarned.)

Why can't I be like Zeus and just allow a fully-formed Athena to spring from my head? Every time I see a baby now, I feel like I'm eyeing it up, trying to wrap my brain around the method that they use to come into the world.

I understood all this intellectually before, you see. That is kind of like intellectually understanding how to catch a fly ball, though. I can draw you trajectories and talk about the wind, but I can't force myself to stand under one and put my glove out because I'm convinced I'll misjudge it and it will hit me in the forehead.

Somehow, I think, come late December or early January, I'll find myself wishing I was being hit in the forehead with a fly ball instead.