THE BLOG

Let's Talk About How Adorable My Son Is

04/08/2015 04:32 pm ET | Updated Jun 08, 2015
Tom Merton via Getty Images

My son is, without a doubt, the most adorable baby on the planet right now. It's not even a contest.

Let's start with the fact that he has the full array of adorable baby moves. He grabs your finger and looks at you. He smiles and coos. He gets sleepy, fights for a minute and then closes his eyes. Don't get me started on how he gets excited and kicks his legs in the car seat. It's too much.

He's super adorable, but it's more than that. Watching him roll onto his tummy and then get confused about returning to his back is a transcendent experience -- it leaves you with the feeling that everything is going to be OK and that someone today is going to give you a slice of cake when you need it the most.

That's how adorable my son is -- he'll make you believe there's cake on the way. And it's your favorite flavor. That scoop of ice cream on the plate is your favorite too, and just the right proportion to the serving of cake. Anything is possible, because my son is Mayor of Adorableville.

I tell a lot of people how adorable my son is, and while most of them completely agree, a few say something like, "Everyone thinks their baby is the cutest baby ever." Those people look at me with that "It's your first baby, aren't you something precious?" look, and just kind of sigh at me. Sometimes they tousle my hair.

I grin and bear it, because they're mostly right -- everyone does think their baby is the best, cutest, smartest, most super great baby ever.

Here's the thing -- I don't think; I know.

I've given this a lot of thought, and I've come to the sober, rational, unbiased conclusion that my son is the most adorable baby on Earth and could end all war if we printed his face on a blimp and flew it around the globe.

He's so adorable that I worry about him crashing portions of the economy. For instance, the picture at the top of this story is not a picture of my son, but rather a stock photo of a random baby, chosen by professionals as demonstrating high levels of baby cuteness and adorability.

While my son is more adorable than that baby, my wife and I don't want his image used for stock photos for fear of driving all other stock photo babies out of business. I really don't want my son facing picket lines of babies and former babies whose main source of income has been taken away.

It's not fair to him. It's not fair to anyone.

My son is so adorable that I believe other species may also find him adorable. He has a little bear suit we put him in when it's cold, and I bet that -- if we took him to the zoo and met with actual bears -- the head bear would say "you know, I usually don't like humans, but that's a pretty cute person. Bear it up, person bear."

To be clear, I'm not saying your baby isn't adorable. Your baby is probably very cute and fun and all things wonderful. What I'm saying is that my son is adorable in historic proportions -- if Helen of Troy had the face that launched a thousand ships, then my son could be the baby that launches a million ships, perhaps even a billion.

How many ships do we have on Earth right now? That's how many he could launch.

Everyone would just be hanging out, bumping into each on the oceans and seas and rivers, confused as to why we're all out there in individual ships. And then, scientists would beam a picture of my son trying to eat his feet across the atmosphere, and everyone would say in unison, "Oh, that's why I launched my ship. That kid is frickin' adorable."

And then we'd all have cake.

It's actually a little unfair to compare my son to other babies on Earth. What we really need is an interplanetary competition, where my son goes tiny toe to tiny toe with babies from other planets. I can't say how his knee fat will measure up against octopus-like creatures or heretofore unknown species that exist in spheres of pure light, but I'd put my son up against any of them.

Let's dance, aliens. My kid versus your kid. The adorableness of the universe is on the line.

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