Noah waits quietly for the god inside the big glowing box to reveal himself and speak his gentle message of love, tolerance and Elmo.
For everybody who asked about the baby jail: it's called the Superyard XT. It's nothing really special -- certainly nothing we spent hours researching the safety of or the studying the current research on the most visually-stimulating plastic lattice-work. It also takes up our entire damn living room, but it keeps Noah's noggin away from the vicious gangs of roaming Ikea furniture. And for that, I salute it.
I salute you, baby jail! Keep on with your confining, frustrating self!
It is also handy for crushing the destructive hopes and shoe-chewing dreams of the average pursedog.
Also, I want to pass on one more big squishy collective thank you to EVERYBODY who commented and emailed about the churchy post. You guys are amazing and I really hope y'all are coming to Blogher so I can give you hugs when I'm all drunk and ungodly and shit.
Please get me back to my hotel room when I reach this point, is all I ask.