Erykah Badu welcomed her third child into the world yesterday. Her daughter joins Erykah’s other two, also fathered by rappers children, Puma and Seven. Badu and the new baby’s daddy, rapper Jay Electronica, Twittered (Tweeted?) along the way with updates such as, “Morning, I’m in labor,” “Everybody stand back. No hospitals. No doctors. No medicine. We’re waiting for the midwife to show,” and “Feb. 1 2009 my first child, my daughter born at 130 PM exactly. It’s the happiest day of my life.”
Now, Twitter wasn’t around when my kids were born. If it had been, this would have been a typical series of Twat Tweets based on my experience: “Felt twinge in back, must be in labor. Want general anaesthesia NOW,” “Changed mind. Don’t want kids after all,” “Drove railroad spike through my hand. Hurt less than transition,” “I thought all babies were supposed to be beautiful?” and “Let me get this straight. I just pushed a human out of my vagina and all I get for dinner is a shrink-wrapped egg salad sandwich?”
I’ve always questioned the mental health of Erykah Badu. Maybe it’s her hair. Maybe it’s because she even thought of Twittering while having a baby or maybe it’s because she didn’t want any drugs. I suspect my concern for her may now be based on the name she chose for the newest addition to her brood: Twitty Milk. Yes, I’m serious. Like “Titty Milk” but with a “w” in there.