The Baby and the Batman

The Baby and the Batman

  H. L. Burke

  Copyright © 2015 H. L. Burke

  Dedication

  To my two super girls, Coryn and Claire

  The Baby and the Batman

  by H. L. Burke

  I love cartoons. They're the best. They're like the only thing that Big Sister and I can share without me having to scream to get my turn. Not that I mind screaming. I'm good at it. That's one of the reasons I don't talk much. You don't really need words when you have volume.

  Sometimes other Mommas give Momma a hard time about me. They're all, "She's two now. Shouldn't she be talking more?" Most of the time, Momma doesn't let it get to her. Other times she breaks out the flash cards. I hate flash cards.

  Anyway, if I had it my way, I'd spend all day watching cartoons . . . and digging holes in the backyard with a plastic spoon . . . oh and eating ice cream. Maybe all at once. Wow, wouldn't it be great to have a sandbox in the living room?

  Momma is funny about this TV thing. If I watch too much she gets all jumpy and turns it off and tries to make me go outside or listen to a story or something. I don't really get it. When I watch TV, she gets a lot more done. Seems like a win-win.

  Big Sister and I don't always agree on what to watch, but we both like super hero cartoons. At first I was concerned because the super heroes always take a beating. I mean, it's boo-boo central. I explained this to Momma, actually used one of my precious words, pointed at the screen after a particularly vicious Superman vs Giant Robot session and said, “Boo-boo.” She just laughed and acted like it was cute. I guess she doesn't care very much about Superman. Eventually, though, I figured out that super heroes usually shake off these sorts of things without so much as a princess bandage. It must be nice to be a super hero.

  My favorite, of course, is Batman. He's like me. He doesn't say much but you always know he's in charge. A girl has to admire that. Big Sister likes Wonder Woman, but is Wonder Woman in charge? No. No one listens to Wonder Woman. Everyone listens to Batman . . . or else. Just like me. If you don't listen to me, you get an earful.

  This morning Big Sister and I break out the cereal and the Justice League DVDs while Momma is sleeping. I used to make sure to wake her up right when I got up, but then I figured out how to get to the cereal with the little marshmallows using my step stool. With that accomplished, all that I really need to do for a perfect morning is to get Big Sister to put in the right cartoon, and let Momma sleep. If we're really quiet, we basically own the house. This morning we get through several Wonder Womans and a Green Lantern before Momma comes downstairs, mumbling something about this being the last thing we watch for the day. She never really means that.

  Momma gives us a second helping of marshmallow cereal and wanders off to clean something.

  It looks to be the perfect day, and I am pretty sure if I wear her out enough, she'll break down and allow more cartoon watching after lunch. There's a fine line between “tired enough to let me watch cartoons” Momma and “sitting on the floor softly weeping” Momma, so I have to be careful. Life is about balance, you know?

  That's when the mailman rolls up.

  With a box.

  A box!

  I love boxes. A lot of times they have really great stuff inside, like bubble wrap or foam peanuts. Even without these things, in the end, you have a BOX. Can't beat a box.

  This time Momma gets pretty excited. She calls Big Sister over. “It's your Halloween costumes!”

  She opens the box and takes out a plastic package. Big Sister squeals and next thing I know, she's running around dressed as Wonder Woman, trying to lasso everything. Pfft, Wonder Woman. Her costume is a red and blue bathing suit. No one is going to be afraid of that.

  “Is Claire going to be a super hero, too?” Big Sister asks.

  I perk up. There is only one super hero I want to be. I stand gazing up at the box, waiting for the most awesome costume in the whole world to emerge.

  Instead Momma pulls out another brightly colored monstrosity.

  “Oh! Supergirl!” Big Sister gushes.

  Oh heck no!

  I shake my head and whine, but Momma doesn't listen. She pops me into that gaudy get up, and I sit there, reduced to a glorified side kick.

  Come on. Supergirl? I'm not a Supergirl. I'm BATMAN!

  “Let's take a picture to send to Gramma!” Big Sister bursts out.

  A picture? Immortalizing me as a second rate Wonder Woman rip off? I don't even get an invisible plane! I deserve a Batmobile, and a Batplane, and maybe a Batboat. This isn't fair!

  “No!” I break out a word. Maybe that will help. Momma always listens when I use the words, and "no" is a particularly useful word. I tug at the stupid Supergirl onesie.

  “Oh, is it too small?”

  No, it's not too small. It's the wrong, stupid suit! I'm not Supergirl. I need to be the Caped Crusader! The Dark Knight! The better half of the Dynamic Duo! Not this Supergirl.

  “No!” I run to the TV and grab the Justice League case with the picture of my desired costume on it. I thrust it at Momma.

  “No, Claire. We're not watching TV right now.”

  I point to the costume. I point to my onesie. I whine.

  This isn't getting anywhere. Time for desperate measures. I need a new word, the most important word I'll probably ever speak. I struggle with it. B is a hard sound.

  "Aaaaa . . . aat. . ." I can't get the B! Ah heck. Skip it.

  Finally it bursts from me, “AT MAN!”

  Close enough. Momma stares. Her eyes light up and she claps her hands. “Batman? You want to be Batman?”

  I nod so fiercely that my neck feels about to break. I am understood.

  Momma bundles me and Big Sister into the car for a trip to Walmart. It's just down the road, and I'm impressed by the selection. Apparently Batman is a pretty popular option (makes sense.). Momma reaches up and grabs a pink "Batgirl" costume, but I turn my head away and whine until she gets the idea. I see the one I want, on a rack between a green dinosaur and a space ranger. I point and breakout the word again, "At Man!"

  Momma looks from the black bat-cape to me and back again. She sighs. "You'll look like a boy."

  I stretch out both my arms and wiggle my fingers. Come on cuteness, don't fail me now! "At Man!" I coo. Momma melts like the Popsicle I dropped behind the couch last week. She takes it off the hook and hands it to me. I grip it to my chest. I'm going to have the coolest costume ever!

  You gotta hand it to Momma, she really came through. I think I'll let her be my Robin.

  THE END

  Author Note: Super hero names trademarked to DC Comics

 

  About H. L. Burke