I really shouldn't do this. I should instead form a sole proprietorship, crank out some business cards, and get a listing in the Yellow Pages under eructation consultation. Such is the magnitude of my gift.
Why give it away and forego untold millions? Because I don't roll that way. I am all about the people. So if you're a new parent and your newborn constantly struggles with recalcitrant gas bubbles, here's a little peek into my process:
When TwoBert pulls off the nipple and starts squawking his strident I-have-to-burp squawk, I hold him to my chest, rub his back, and sing, "Go TwoBert. It's your burp-day. It's your burp-day." I don't know if it's the motion, the caresses, or an innate distaste for R. Kelly, but it consistently does the trick.
