Monica Yant Kinney: Mother lode of cuteness

New scientific research suggests that babies understand cause-and-effect relationships, can do simple math, and make keen evaluations about people and pomp.

If that's true, what must Anthony Kazoun have thought last week as the 4-month-old debuted in the 100th annual Ocean City Baby Parade dressed as King Triton (of The Little Mermaid), wearing a felt fin custom-made by his uncle, Charlie Vacarro, an Italian tailor?

The Wayne, N.J., king's court included 30 fawning fans in matching T-shirts. His throne sat on a shopper's-club cart transformed into the sea by silk scarves, rubber lobsters, and, as mom Elena put it, "a lot of glitter and tissue paper."

"We asked Costco if we could borrow the cart," explained grandpa Tony Jidu. "We're Rotarians. They knew they'll get it back."

The King made no parade pronouncements. He spat up. He slept. He sucked his Binky.

"He's at a loss for words," quipped Dad, also named Anthony.

At this spectacle, who isn't?

I came fearing the worst, thanks to TV shows like Toddlers & Tiaras, where pageant parents scar little kids for life with all the eyeliner and the spray-on tans.

But the baby parade is all about families coming together, and Ocean City is about as tame as it gets. The Shore town is proudly dry and boasts that it is both New Jersey's best beach and "America's Greatest Family Resort."

Even a controversy surrounding the baby parade is kinda cute.

This year, friendly rivals Wildwood and Ocean City both claimed to be celebrating the 100th anniversary of having the nation's oldest-and-best pint-sized promenade. Never mind that Wildwood skipped a few years due to lack of interest or that Ocean City abstained during two World Wars and the 1916 polio outbreak.

In the 1950s, Rosemary Bonner rode a pony in the parade. This year, her grandkids graced a princess carriage, pulled by a Shetland named Icing on the Cake.

Mary Lou Donahue honored the Liberty Bell in the 1974 parade and Pooh in 1976. In '77, she stormed the Shore in a Viking ship.

Last week, the Bala Cynwyd mom pulled her girls, Riley, 3, and Emma, 10 months, in a rolling photo album of parades past.

Participating is "not even a choice in our family," she told me. "Every year, there's another baby."

By most accounts, this year marked the biggest (300 kids) and longest (three hours) parade ever. Past participants were plentiful, though conventional wisdom held that babies from the inaugural event in 1909 now strut on the big boardwalk in the sky.

The forecast called for rain, but Mother Nature - who enjoys the sight of a sweetie in a strawberry suit as much as the next mom - selflessly restrained herself.

There were babies dressed as Bam-Bam and dads doing Fred Flintstone. One float declared "Jersey Girls Don't Pump Gas" and featured a Springsteen soundtrack. Another starred Elizabeth Wetmore, 4, as a real-life music-box ballerina.

"We did the calculations," said mom Jaimie, of Galloway. "She turns around 720 times an hour."

After scouting the competition, my money was on Phillies fans Dana and Todd George, who put chunky cherub Preston, 9 months, inside a 13-foot-long baseball bat dubbed the "Evesham Slugger."

"We made it with wood, chicken wire, and papier-mâché," Dana told me. "We used The Inquirer!"

The Phils may have won the World Series, but Preston had to settle for second place behind a crustacean-themed trio, "Who Are You Calling Crabby?" The fan favorite took it in stride, which is more than can be said of L.J. DiBuono.

The Egg Harbor 3-year-old got my vote for edgiest role of the day as an assemblyman recently charged with accepting a $10,000 bribe. L.J.'s mom, Brittany, pulled the wagon wearing an FBI shirt.

L.J. committed no crime, but by 12:30 p.m., he was in meltdown.

"He's completely lost it right before we got to the judges," DiBuono acknowledged. "He's tired, he's hungry, he wants to go home."