This morning, I learned that big, handsome man Adam Driver has a baby. According to “Page Six,” he has had one with his wife, Joanne Tucker, for two years now, but somehow managed to keep it a secret.
So far, Driver has neither confirmed nor denied that he is a father, though “Page Six” pointed to a couple of possible slip-ups in interviews, like a 2017 W Magazine photo shoot, in which he says, “I look at my dog — this sounds so absurd — but it’s not — I don’t know if I can love anything more. Like, I have a kid, maybe — and be like, [gestures dismissively]. But the dog!”
Does Baby Driver really exist? Unclear. Regardless, these rumors have made one thing crystal clear: I want to be Adam Driver’s baby.
• I want him to cradle me in his gigantic, Camry-sized arms, and sing an endearingly off-key lullaby to me.
• I want him to cover my tables’ sharp corners with padding and install outlet covers so I can safely navigate my living room.
• I want to fall asleep curled up on his bare, expansive chest, rising and falling with each warm wave of his breath.
• I want him to teach me how to play well with others, and how to not pick fights on Twitter.
• I want him to bathe me.
• I want him to cut off my screen-time at 8 p.m., then read me my favorite stories (with the voices) until I fall asleep.
• When I have a nightmare, I want him to rush to my beside, hold me against him while I cry, and whisper, “It’s okay. I’m here now.”
• I want him to hang my shitty drawings of us up on his fridge, and brag about them to visitors. “Can you believe it?” he’d say, pointing to the bloated, distorted figures. “She’s only 27.”
• I want him to take me to the zoo and carry me around on his big, broad shoulders while he reads the animal descriptions to me and I sip on overpriced lemonade from a sippy cup shaped like an elephant.
• Around 4 p.m., when I start to get peckish and crabby, I want him to appear with a Ziplock bag of goldfish crackers to tide me over until dinner.
• I want him to encourage me to explore my interests, and sign me up for pottery, and kickboxing, and Italian language classes.
• I want him to blow a raspberry on my stomach and I’ll be all like, “Ahhh!” but obviously I’ll love it.
• On the weekends, I want him to strap me into a BabyBjörn on his chest, and take me on a walk around Prospect Park.
• I want him to walk around on all fours like a horse while I ride on his back and scream, “Yee haw!”