Why Talking to Your Infant Like a Roommate Actually Works

The biggest, most pervasive lie we're sold about motherhood is that you need a degree in early childhood development and a voice that shatters glass to properly entertain an infant. I used to actually make my throat sore trying to hit those high, sing-songy Ms. Rachel notes because I thought that was the only way to get a baby to look at me.

I distinctly remember sitting on my living room rug at 3:14 PM on a rainy Tuesday. I was wearing maternity leggings that I swore I was going to retire six months prior, sporting a mystery stain on my knee that was either sweet potato or rust, and drinking coffee that had been microwaved three times. Maya was six months old, just sitting there in her bouncy seat, staring at me like I owed her money. I was so profoundly touched out and lonely that I just gave up the high-pitched charade. I sighed, looked at her, and spent twenty minutes explaining the entire plot of season two of The White Lotus, complete with my personal theories on the ending and complaints about our neighborhood HOA fees.

She was absolutely mesmerized. Which, honestly, is exactly what the whole internet is realizing right now.

The internet's favorite tiny roommate

If you've been on TikTok at all lately, you've probably seen Alex Bennett's videos with her baby, Tate. It's this massive viral thing where she just talks to her infant daughter like they share an apartment and split the utility bill. She gossips with her about baking cakes and adult relationship dynamics, and the baby just coos and stares back, completely engaged. It's hilarious. It's brilliant. It's also making me feel deeply validated about my White Lotus monologue.

It's funny because when I first started watching these videos in bed, my husband Dave glanced over at my phone and was like, "Are you listening to Yung Baby Tate?" I had to explain to him that no, I'm not nearly cool enough to be streaming the rapper, I'm watching a 20-something mother talk to her baby about making breakfast. He just rolled his eyes and went to sleep. Husbands.

Anyway, the point is, I mentioned this trend to our doctor, Dr. Miller—who has the patience of a saint and has talked me off many ledges—and he said that talking to your kid like a roommate is actually top-tier developmental science. Apparently, you don't have to use that cloying "parentese" if it makes you want to tear your hair out. He said that babies are basically these aggressive little sponges, and just by narrating your day or pretending you're vlogging to them, you're firing off like millions of neural connections in their tiny brains. It helps them recognize the rhythm of language and control their own emotions, even if they've absolutely zero idea what you're saying about your mortgage rates.

If you're trying to survive this phase without completely losing your sense of self, you might want to check out some of Kianao's organic baby clothes, because simplifying your laundry is just one less thing to worry about while you're busy hosting a one-way podcast for your infant.

My absolute hatred of the screen time guilt trip

I think the reason this whole talking-like-adults thing feels so important right now is because we're all drowning in the screen time debate. Oh god, the guilt.

I remember reading some terrifying statistic that children under two are averaging over an hour of screen time a day, and I immediately spiraled into a dark hole of mom-shame. The American Academy of Pediatrics used to have this hardline rule about absolutely NO screens before age two. None. Zero. Which is incredibly easy to say when you're writing guidelines in a sterile office and not trying to cook boiling pasta while a toddler is actively trying to pull the dog's tail and the baby is screaming because they dropped a spoon.

Dr. Miller tried to explain it to me by referencing some researcher—Dr. Dimitri somebody from a university in Washington, I think—who says that babies under 18 months literally lack the cognitive ability to transfer what they see on a 2D screen into the real world. He told me they need "laps, not apps." Which is a very cute, very annoying rhyme.

But here's the reality. Sometimes you just need ten minutes to poop in peace. The AAP has supposedly softened their stance lately to focus on "boundaries" instead of strict bans, probably because parents were collectively losing their minds. I try to just use my phone or the iPad for adaptive reasons—like when I need to clip their fingernails without drawing blood, because clipping a baby's nails is basically defusing a bomb. If you can just collapse your panic and try to co-view the screen with them, pointing at the colors or narrating what's happening, apparently it mitigates the brain-melting effects. Or so I tell myself to sleep at night.

Teething is a fresh circle of hell

Right around the time you get comfortable having these one-sided roommate chats—usually between six and twelve months—the teeth arrive. And everything goes to hell.

With Leo, I swear we just called him "Baby T" for a month because he morphed into a tiny, furious T-Rex who wanted to bite everything in sight. He was drooling so much he looked like a leaky faucet, and his cheeks were bright red. My mother-in-law, Susan, called me in a panic one afternoon swearing that teething was giving him a 102-degree fever. I rushed him to Dr. Miller, who gently informed me that teething doesn't cause high fevers or diarrhea, and Leo actually just had a raging ear infection. Thanks, Susan.

If there's one thing you really need to buy for this phase, it's a proper, safe thing for them to gnaw on. We went through a million plastic rings that looked gross after two days, but the one thing that seriously saved my sanity was the Kianao Squirrel Teether Silicone Baby Gum Soother. I'm not kidding, Leo chewed on this little mint green acorn like it owed him money.

It's made of food-grade silicone, which is great because it doesn't get moldy in the tiny crevices like those weird rubber ones do. My absolute best survival trick was throwing it in the fridge for twenty minutes before giving it to him. Never the freezer, by the way—Dr. Miller warned me that frozen teethers can really cause frostbite on their delicate little gum tissues, which is a nightmare I didn't need unlocked. But the chilled silicone squirrel? Pure magic. He could hold the little ring part himself, which kept him quiet while I complained to him about the price of groceries.

The reality of the bedtime routine

All this talking and teething inevitably leads to the bedtime routine, which is basically an extreme sport. You want them to sleep so badly your teeth ache, but you also have to do the bath, the lotion, the pajamas, the whole song and dance.

Dave is lovely, but he literally couldn't care less what they sleep in as long as it has snaps. I, on the other hand, spent months battling Maya's mysterious skin rashes. Baby skin is ridiculously delicate, and I learned the hard way that putting her in cheap, synthetic polyester basically guaranteed a night of her tossing, turning, and scratching. We eventually switched almost entirely to the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit from Kianao.

It has this stretchy envelope shoulder thing which is a godsend when you're trying to wrangle a screaming, wet baby who suddenly has the strength of an adult man. It's 95% organic cotton, undyed, and tagless. I just toss it in the wash on cold and let it air dry over a chair because who honestly has time to iron or delicate-wash anything? It just works, it doesn't irritate her skin, and it stretches over her giant noggin without a fight. Win.

We also tried the Bamboo Baby Blanket with the Universe Pattern. I mean, it's a blanket. It's incredibly soft, and the bamboo means it has that magical temperature-regulating thing so they don't wake up sweating, which is nice. But honestly, the yellow and orange planets kind of violently clashed with my carefully curated neutral nursery vibe, and eventually the kids just dragged it through the hallway dirt anyway. It washes well, though. I'll give it that. But if I had to do it again, I'd probably just get a plain color.

Just keep talking

So yeah. The whole Baby Tate thing? It's real. You don't need flashcards or educational apps that claim to make your kid a genius by age two. You just need to sit them on the floor, hand them a safe silicone squirrel to chew on, and tell them exactly why Susan's potato salad at the family barbecue was subpar.

They're listening. Sort of. They're at least forming the neural pathways to eventually agree with you.

If you want to upgrade your tiny roommate's wardrobe or find teethers that genuinely survive the dishwasher, go explore Kianao's organic collections before your kid starts demanding to pick out their own outfits.

Honestly, you probably have questions