When I first heard that I was going to be a “formula baby,” I was like “Great gobs of grandeur! I love me some racin’ cars!”

I’m no stranger to speed. I blazed my way through a birth canal in record time. That nurse was wishing for a catcher’s mitt by the time my fat face found daylight.

As a “formula baby,” I thought I’d be fitted with a Corinthian leather race suit, given a helmet and the keys to my Ferrari. (I know F1 cars don’t actually have keys, but you get the idea.)

Well, as it turns out, there’s a big diff between “formula” and “Formula 1.”

And that just sucks.