By Sean Sullivan Lagniappe columnist

It’s a quiet night at the Sullivan house, with my wife and daughter out for the evening, it’s almost like the days of my 20s and early 30s, with nothing but the sound of whirring blades on the ceiling fan, ice tinkling in a glass filled with a brown water libation and the light scratching of the dog at the back door trying to negotiate passage into the house.

It is oh-so-quiet and oh-so-nice. This oasis from the high decibels of the rest of my day is really nice. As I sit here and revel in the lack of noise, I’m glaring at my enemy in this war of sound. No not my daughter, although my enemies are her servants. It’s her toys. At her young age I don’t know if they’re really toys or just baby distracters, but whatever they are, they are driving me crazy…er.

The Mrs. and I are lucky to have both sets of parents that are ga-ga over our daughter and see fit to outfit her with everything she needs, could need and has no chance of ever needing. Most of these items come in big boxes, are an MIT graduate project to assemble, are adorned with tropical fish and circus animals, come with a manual the size of the Foley phone book full of disclaimers and statements that absolve the company from any damage they may cause to our child, and they’re all loud. I’ve looked in these tomes of disclaimerdom if there’s any recourse for a parent that suffers some sort of shell shock when they jump from being a quiet and semi-balanced adult to the ringmaster of a baby circus.

I guess it’s not as much of a circus as it is a carnival. While there aren’t “Chicken On a Stick” vendors and no carnies, unless certain relatives show up to visit, there is definitely a Midway feeling to the Sullivan living room. Sure, they have names like “Baby Papasan,” “Excersaucer” and “Learn and Play,” but in reality they should be named the “Tilt-A-Whirl,” “Cap’n Randy’s Rock and Roll Time Machine” and the “Himalayan.’ It’s like the fair has come home to roost in our living room.

The area between the coffee table and the television has become a baby carnival Midway — just as cluttered, noisy and smelly as the real thing. There’s the baby swing, which works on the same premise as the thrill inspiring Pirate ship ride, with the baby swinging back and forth just like the S.S. Scallywag does at the fair.

The only thing missing is the Jolly Roger flag and loop of low-fidelity pirate music crackling on the sound system. There’s another device that looks like one of the teacups in its name sake ride and has 67 different noise-making devices around the edge and all in the reach of baby.

The sole purpose of all these baby carnival rides is to distract the baby from a crying fit. Sure, you can sugarcoat it, but in reality the baby carnival rides are there to distract the baby from whatever 4-month-old drama has caused them to scream louder than a drunk woman who thinks she sees her uncle Earl “up there on that float” during a Mardi Gras parade.

Parents speak about how educational and developmentally important these devices are and those parents are well …full of crap. These baby slot machines with their blinking lights and trebly music are only “developmentally” important in that they give Mom and Dad time to think and regain their composure versus having the child’s parent go mad and run through the front yard ripping out their hair while dancing to RuPaul’s “Supermodel.”

I taunt these items, though I’m completely into using them to get our daughter to calm down and possibly, dare I say…nap. I should point out though, if some parenting magazine said the ritualistic sacrificing of Guinea pigs would help baby’s gas pains and crying fits, I would have to test out the idea.

Well, I hear the garage door opening and the Mrs. and the baby are back, and from the sound of it I better fire up the Midway.

Sean Sullivan is Lagniappe lagniappe columnist. Contact him at ssullivan@lagniappemobile.com.

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