I babysit my grandson during the week, and he’s recently learned two new skills. Simultaneously.
Squealing and screeching.
We’re on day three of this delightful new developmental milestone, and I’m beginning to suspect my hearing may never recover.
The interesting thing about his newfound talent is that nobody, including the baby himself, seems entirely sure what he’s trying to communicate.
Is he happy? Is he mad? Is he summoning something?
Your guess is as good as mine.
There will be a bloodcurdling screech, followed by an enthusiastic squeal, and, if I’m particularly lucky, a coo.
Coos are good. I like coos. We should have more coos.
This morning, he seemed perfectly content, so I made the reckless decision to brush my teeth.
I managed to get toothpaste onto the toothbrush and was approximately halfway to my mouth when—
AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Good Lord Almighty.
I rushed back to find him exercising his vocal cords with the enthusiasm of someone auditioning for a horror movie.
Since I still had a toothbrush covered in toothpaste and a mouth full of unbrushed teeth, I decided to compromise.
I wheeled his bassinet over to the bathroom doorway so he could supervise.
Apparently, this was unacceptable.
The pacifier came flying out. The bottom lip turned down. The face announced that Nana had made a terrible mistake.
You see, watching an old woman brush her teeth is apparently not the entertainment he’d signed up for.
So back to the living room we went.
Pacifier back in. Peace restored.
For the moment.
Because with babies, there’s always a later.
And there was.
But that’s another story.
Meanwhile, in the Land of Absolutely No Money
Between my grandson’s vocal performances, I had big plans to get a new digital junk journal product finished and listed in one of my online stores.
It was going to be quick. Easy. Efficient.
I even had ChatGPT helping me.
We had a plan. We had a vision. We were making progress.
And then, somewhere around the halfway point, ChatGPT apparently blew a circuit.
I’m not sure what happened inside that artificial brain, but whatever intelligence it had been displaying packed its little digital suitcase and left the building.
Suddenly, we couldn’t seem to accomplish something we’d been doing perfectly well just minutes earlier.
I tried explaining. I tried correcting. I tried again.
And again.
And again.
At some point, I began questioning which one of us was actually artificial.
Then the baby woke up.
Production stopped.
No finished product. No new listing. No potential sale.
Another day, another dollar I didn’t make.
Although, come to think of it, calling it a dollar might be a little optimistic.
After marketplace fees, some of my digital products earn me approximately forty cents per sale.
Sometimes less.
And that’s before taxes.
FORTY. CENTS.
I can’t even buy a decent piece of candy for forty cents anymore, let alone an ice-cold beer, for heaven’s sake!
And we haven’t discussed what I spend creating these masterpieces, paying for software, listing them, marketing them, and occasionally questioning every decision I’ve made since approximately 1997.
I have thousands of products scattered across my online stores.
Thousands.
And here we are in the fourth quarter of the year, supposedly the magical season when online sellers are meant to be rolling in holiday money.
Well, I’d just like to make an official announcement.
Fourth quarter sucks.
There. I said it.
Tomorrow Is Another Day
Maybe tomorrow the baby will discover a new sound.
Maybe ChatGPT will remember how to do its job.
Maybe somebody will buy something, and I’ll earn enough to purchase an entire piece of candy.
Or maybe I’ll just manage to brush my teeth without an audience.
At this point, I’m not sure which would be the bigger accomplishment.
Until then, I’ll be over here with my coffee, my unfinished projects, and a grandson who has apparently discovered that he can scream for absolutely no reason whatsoever.
And if you hear a bloodcurdling screech coming from somewhere in Texas, don’t worry.
It’s probably just the baby.
Probably.
— The Barbed Belle
If you’re also trying to make a living, maintain your sanity, or simply brush your teeth without interruption, pull up a chair. Subscribe for more adventures from The Barbed Belle. Misery loves company, but around here, at least we can laugh about it.