Baby Talk

Why do people talk to babies as though they were stupid? Isn’t he lovely? the old woman said And doesn’t he look the spit of his Dad Is he on solids, how long does he sleep And how many other kids have you had? Who does he look like? the young woman said I’m not really sure if he’s anyone’s kid I feed him on burgers, he doesn’t sleep much And I’ve had one for each of the blokes that I did Not quite the answers the old woman sought The one about blokes pretty much struck her dumb The young woman giggled, she’d made it all up And what’s more she wasn’t even 'his' Mum But what fun to be had as she walked around town To the ‘ooohs’ and the ‘aaahs’ and the helium cries Oh, the amusement of dressing a girl In an outfit as blue as conventional skies His name’s Rupert, she’d say, (sometimes Nobby or Fred) Depending on who was that nosey that day He’s got rickets, or measles, whatever disease Occurred to her, and that seemed funny to say It entertained baby, she really was bright And sick of inane inappropriate chat And of people who leaned far too near to her face Who were nosey and smelly and frequently spat She was in on the joke, and well up for the crack For the stuff folk came out with was simply absurd She was practising swearwords at night in her cot To prepare for the day she could utter a word And then she would show ‘em, she’d show ‘em alright Not to treat her as though she was some kind of fool It’s my business how many nappies I fill Such personal questions, completely uncool In the meantime, she’s watching, she’s mentally noting How humans make speech in particular forms Who is good, who is bad, who speaks some kind of sense And who is averse to conventional norms Oh, babies are little and can’t answer back But don’t think for a moment they’re not on the ball They’re not poodles, or Martians, or mentally ill So speak to them nicely, or don’t speak at all by Gail