Make gas, not war

Babies fart a lot. At least, ours do. Impressively loud, adult-sounding farts, sometimes accompanied by adult-sized aromas. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that this is pretty universal among newborns. I'm guessing it's also fairly universal that parents find it entertaining. No matter how serious or sophisticated you may be, how can you not laugh when your precious little bundle of joy -- so sweet, so delicate -- starts farting like a frat boy whose finger has been pulled?

I was ruminating on this this morning at four-thirty a.m., half asleep, while nursing Elsa. Or maybe it was Clio. Or some other baby altogether. At four-thirty a.m., who the hell knows?

Anyway, I got to thinking: if we could all just remember that around the world, from Massachusetts to Paraguay to Palestine to China, there are small, flatulent babies, and doting, lovestruck parents chuckling goofily at their intestinal emissions, then maybe the world would be a better, more peaceful place.

Picture a young father in the Middle East, who maybe happens to be a Sunni separatist or a member of Hezbollah, giggling as his newborn screws up his or her little face and lets one rip. Picture an Israeli soldier or a Sudanese refugee or an Afghan warlord or a Southern anti-gay crusader or, hell, Osama fucking Bin Laden smiling as his son wriggles in his crib and toots, and you can't help wondering: can't we all just get along? Can't we forget the scant, superficial differences that divide us and focus instead on all the rich, lovely, malodorous humanity that connects us?

Sleep deprivation. It's a killer.