Jake and my Robot Baby Granddaughter, Marta
Let's talk about the Robot Babies shall we?
In theory, it's a super idea: Send 8th graders home with a robot baby and make them take care of them all weekend and they will see what
pain in the ass a lot of work an infant is and thus be chaste or at least remember to use birth control in the please, God, very distant future.
In reality, it sucks.
At first it's rather festive. The Robot Babies come with a Baby Bjorn and it's funny to see your teenage son all apparatus-ed up with a bottle (I wonder, if I had a teenage daughter, if I would find it less funny and more horrifying?) and a wee newborn... but the festive ends quickly as these Robot Babies are not merely heavy dolls, rather they are
evil computers that are programmed to go off x amount of times over the weekend... hooray for middle of the night crying!
The dolls have computer chips and your child wears a bracelet (which is secured on like a hospital band so there is no slipping the thing off and sticking good old
Granny Mom with it for the weekend) and when the baby cries, your child must "chime" the chip, and then set forth to see if it needs a bottle, a diaper change or to simply be comforted.
Comforting is the worst because it's endless and it's just rocking and patting the mean Robot Baby and listening to it whimper, then cry, then whimper and finally, the blessed little "happy giggle" sound indicating that the task in complete and the thing can be put back on the coffee table.
A Robot Baby will really fuck up your weekend.
And that is fine. That's the point! Babies! Your life is not your own and blah blah blah...
But here is the thing, those suckers need to be programmed to "OFF" by 10 pm on Sunday night. The weekend was one thing... lack of sleep, less time to do the fun things, minding the babies "head"... but as of right now I am a lot more concerned with my teen getting a good sleep on a school night than I am about him getting some girl pregnant.
Jake was at his very end last night. Marta (our Robot Baby) was at full tilt FUSSTY mode from 9 - 12 and when she went off at 3 am I tried to help by picking her up only I forgot she was a Robot Baby and not a doll and I picked her up by her arm and OMG the SQUEALING and the HYSTERIA letting me know that I had ABUSED THE FUCKING ROBOT BABY.
All I have in my defense is that I have managed to safely raise 3 human children.
Also, next year, when Jack is in the 8th grade and this little gem of a weekend rolls around? He is totally doing the report.