"We Want To Own Tummy Time"
Of silly infant-stimulation crazes, $15,000 preschools and the sad, deluded parents who worship them
By Mark Morford

This is the reality. If your beautiful bundle of adorable mewling diaper-clad genius baby cannot lift its head up off the floor as it flounders around on its tummy, bumping into the furniture and eating stray lintballs and annoying the dog, it is all over.

Your child will clearly not learn to crawl early enough and will doubtlessly grow up to become a monosyllabic encephalitic drug-addict transsexual dental fetishist premature ejaculator, shunned by his peers and never able get into an overrated college you can't really afford. Very sorry.

Similarly -- but yet completely different -- if you are obnoxiously rich and live in Manhattan and your tot doesn't get into one of the ultra-elite Upper East Side preschools at 15K a year by way of Daddy pulling illegal favors with his company's stock price so his crony CEO pal will put in a good word with the school board, well, you might as well just give up.

Because clearly your epically spoiled children will most certainly not get into the right grade school or middle school or high school and then Princeton and Harvard will just snicker and sneer and tear up your applications, laughing and pointing at your tiny genitalia and humiliating your family honor and your status at the country club for all eternity.
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