how to build a toddler
The first step in any successful DIY endeavor is to establish a clearly defined goal. In this case, our objective is to construct a toddler, not to grow one in the customary fashion. For that, I would need to refer you to a very different kind of blog, and--spoiler alert--storks play a far less crucial role than you may have been led to believe. Now that we're on the same page, permit me to elaborate.
So You Want to Build a Toddler?
(Hey, I'm not here to judge.)
For over two-hundred years, two disparate techniques have garnered popular acclaim. Both date back to the early nineteenth century, an era renowned for its remarkable inventions and advances in scientific discoveries. The one I'll address first may still be found today tucked into the recipe boxes of the terminally disturbed. Crafting a female toddler may seem preferable as both sugar and spice are easily acquired from the family larder. But, unless you're an impossible-to-please curmudgeonly sort, I think you'll find everything nice to be a hopelessly tall order. If tenacity is your leading characteristic, you may still encounter disappointment as it is unlikely you'll uncover a mixing bowl large enough to hold the aforementioned everything or that you'll be able to contain some of the key ingredients. Big, fluffy clouds are notoriously tricky to blend into batters. They sure are awfully nice though.
Due to the commonplace nature of their origins, boys will prove a simpler option for toddler-making rookies. While the original recipe called for an ambiguous variety of bits and bobs--under the umbrella term snips--contemporary modifications have allowed for an amphibious substitution. Three ingredients. One bowl. And you're done. (For the record, I am adamantly opposed to the use of puppy-dog tails, excepting by the puppy-dog upon which said tail has sprung.) Nonetheless, it is not my own recipe, therefore I shall present it in its unadulterated form:
In a large bowl, mix together frogs, snails, and puppy-dog tails. Don't worry about lumps. There will be plenty. They will be gross.
Mold dough into the shape of a child, beginning with the head. Should you run out of this questionable medium, it is always more agreeable to have a legless toddler than a headless one. If the dough won't hold its form, gradually add more mollusk mucus, being careful to work it into the batter thoroughly.
Place your creation in the refrigerator to set overnight.
Admit your accomplishment to no one.
Although the recipe presents few hurdles, I do advise that only the most supportive and emotionally available parents expand their families in this manner. Pulling himself forward, one sticky, knobby toe pad at a time, leaving an oozing trail of slime in his wake, that boy is destined for some serious self-esteem issues. Wagging tail or no, he's never coming out of that shell.
For those less inclined to dabble in the culinary arts, the alternative to engineering Instant Toddler will require a greater investment, including lab space, equipment, and nonconductive boots. In 1816, as Mary Shelley scribbled out her first draft of Frankenstein, the good doctor begged the author (as any fictional protagonist worth his salt is prone to do) to give him the ability to create a son rather than a monster. Upon reflection, Shelley concluded that an electrified two-year-old with endless stamina was an abomination too horrific to be stomached even by the genre's most devoted and twisted readers. Still, the same principle applies. Voltage requirements may vary.
Being the proud parents of an eight-year-old shepherd-beagle--and apparently a chicken of unknown maturity--we did not realize that what our household was missing was, in fact, a toddler. Then, on December 9th, on a day when snowfall would only blanket the mountain peaks and passes two-thousand feet above us, right here at the Fitzgerald residence, it unexpectedly snowed. And snowed. And snowed. We bundled into hats and boots and gloves, escorting one metaphorically electrified child into the yard. She zigged, she zagged, she zoomed over the frozen earth, large, wet flakes coating her head and jacket--coating us all. As she calmed, as the snow continued to fall, after a few false starts, something astonishing took shape. Confirming there is a third, less alarming way to build a toddler, a pair of our resident DIY experts set to work, each demonstrating vastly different, yet uniquely valid, approaches. Despite Maisie’s hilarious delight in pawing at the forming figure until it crumbled (again and again), eventually Dennie’s efforts resulted in this little guy who--his wide, hopeful eyes and eager bearing suggest--is pleading to be picked up, as toddlers often do, even when they're made of snow.
Thank you to justDIYteam for the beaker graphic used at this post’s cover.