everybody loves baby

Connor Crowley

ray romano’s got the face of a baby.

he’s tried to hide it

with the coiffed hairdo,

a full set of teeth,

and smile lines hugging

the sides of his mouth, but

i don’t buy it.

i still see the baby fat bubbling under those cheeks.

you’ve gotta look close, but it’s all there:

the loose teeth, the snotty lip, the blubbering.

there’s a scene in “everybody loves” season 7 episode 22 where

ray and robert are sitting on a sofa in the living room.

ray is telling robert about a suitcase that he and debra

are keeping on the stairs. it’s been there for weeks because

both of them refuse to be the one to move it.

debra can’t move it because she’s busy taking care of the kids.

ray can’t move it because his hands are the size of grapes.

there’s a look of annoyance on robert’s face.

i’m on the edge of my seat rocking back and forth with my feet in my hands.

robert calls ray a baby.

i wail, excited that he is finally being exposed.

ray looks back at robert, his face a play-doh structure,

it can’t be real.

ray pouts and gets upset with robert.

robert buys it. typical.

baby always wins.

you can’t hate baby.

marie enters, carrying a bag full of formula and pacifiers.

she walks up to ray, cooing, and rests his soft head

over her left shoulder, patting his back.

he lets out a burp that barely makes a sound.

i ball my fists and stamp my feet.

marie sets her child back down on the sofa,

moving gently so as to not upset him.

he continues to eat his crackers, surrounded by wealth.

ray is a king, a pharaoh of an empire made of pink stone,

draped in gold underneath the pulse of a warm sun.

robert loves raymond.

debra loves raymond.

marie loves raymond.

everybody loves raymond.

jesus, man, how’d you do it?