My Baby Hates Michael Bay

“I want that explosion to be huge. You hear me? HUGE!”

I couldn’t wait to watch the new Transformers movie, Transformers: The Last Knight. I’d seen the first three (which I thought were absolutely awful) and missed the last one (which I read was absolutely awful), but I had high hopes for The Last Knight because it starred Anthony Hopkins. Not just Anthony Hopkins — Sir Anthony Hopkins. Sir Anthony Hopkins doesn’t make bad movies. When he lends his gravitas to a movie, it’s like a blessing from a priest. Just look at how much he classed up the place in Thor by playing Thor’s dad.

Anyway, my wife is a saint and agreed to come with me to watch the movie. After 10 minutes of pre-trailer commercials then another 15 minutes of trailers, the movie finally started. The Paramount logo flashed on screen followed by the low-pitched metallic groan of alien robot transformation. Then for some reason we were transported to a medieval battlefield where King Arthur and his knights were being routed by a barbarian horde. I could tell they were barbarians because they wore armor pieced together from animal bones. If Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that a person wearing bone armor is probably a barbarian.

Anyway, The Last Knight is a Michael Bay production, so it was LOUD. Swords clashing. Fiery boulders exploding. Men screaming in guttural agony. It was a maelstrom of testosterone-fueled chaos. All it was missing was a silicon-enhanced bikini babe strolling through the battlefield. I immediately felt bad for dragging my wife to this crap fest and turned to see how she was doing. I expected her to look bored, but instead found her hunched over cradling her belly with a worried look on her face.

Uh oh.

Apparently our little boy was going nuts, swirling around like laundry in the spin cycle. I asked her if we should leave. She said no. The baby had calmed down when the scene switched to peaceful dialogue. I relaxed and turned my attention back to the screen. Merlin was talking to a Transformer living in the wreckage of his crashed ship. They didn’t explain how the Transformer got there or how Merlin befriended the alien robot, but who cares. The Transformer handed Merlin a magical staff that let him control a giant three-headed robo-dragon! He promptly sicked his new toy on the barbarian horde and turned the tide of battle in a cacophony of exploding, screaming, and dying, all of which made my boy resume his swirling. Naturally, we left the movie.

My wife interpreted the baby’s swirling as his attempts to get away from the loud noises on screen. That makes sense. I mean, how else can he express his displeasure other than to spin around in my wife’s belly? But that assumes he doesn’t like Michael Bay movies. What if he loves Michael Bay movies? What if he loves pure, unadulterated violence, sex, toilet humor, and MURDEROUS THREE-HEADED ROBO-DRAGONS!!! Maybe his swirls were swirls of joy!

We’ll have to wait until our boy is born to find out whether he’ll be a super shy sensitive kid or a super aggro bro kid. I’m not sure which I prefer since each has its pros and cons. My wife says we shall love him either way and call him our own. That we will.

T-minus 10 weeks and counting.

Crazy!