Boolings, I have
a confession.
I’m freaked out by babies.
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| Lulling you in... |
It’s quite
awkward, considering I have 6 nieces and a nephew. Lucky for me, I was born
into auntyhood. Literally. My nephew was 2 when I was born! (Long story...) My youngest niece
is 9 this year, so I didn’t have too much baby exposure as a kid. I also inherited
3 nieces and a nephew when Mister Boo and I got together – all done with
babyhood by the time I got onto the scene, so saved there too!
The thing is, it’s
not all babies that freak me out. It’s all fresh
babies. You know, between 0 – 4ish months old. Once they start developing
personalities and stuff, I suddenly dig them and the Awesome Auntyhood sets in
good and proper. But the fresher they are, the creepier they are. And the first
week? Before they’ve inflated properly, and they still have wrinkly fingers and
squish-faces? That’s the worst. And they
smell funny.
I never realized
that my freaked-outness was as bad as it is, until yesterday. One of my
colleagues wives had a baby last month. We were all super excited for them, and bought him gifts for the baby, and we all squeed when he posted the
first photos of her on Twitter. She really is a beauty – lots of hair and the
cutest little pout! Yesterday, his wife came to the office and brought baba
with. And she’s even more beautiful in real life than she is on Twitter. A
bunch of us were standing out in the sun when she arrived, fast asleep in her
carry cot. Her mama put her down while were chatting, and all the girls were
oohing and aahing. I was too, but from a distance. And then I realized that I
was utterly freaked out. This is a bit of a problem, considering my
sister-in-law and one of my best friends are both due to pop within the next 3
months.
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| Look at those wrinkly fingers! Gah!!! |
I updated my BBM
status, because hey, I can laugh at myself. “Babies.
Scarier than Ebola.” My pregnant friend was the first to respond. The
conversation went like this:
VPF (Very Pregnant Friend): But why are you scared of babies?
Me: I don’t know! They just trigger panic, and when they’re
sleeping, I get the urge to bang pots together. A sure sign that I shouldn’t
breed. I’d probably eat my young*. Maybe I’m part monkey?
VPF: Is it the fact that they look like tiny old men? Or that
they are drooling messes? Or maybe because they are so helpless?
Me: I have no clue. They scare me more than zombies. I’m
hitting Google up to find out why I’m so fucking weird.
VPF: Stay off WebMD. It’ll just tell you you have brain cancer. But
let me know what you find out.
Me: I suspect that the Great and Powerful Google will tell me
to go straight to the nearest sterilization clinic. 'Do not pass go, but you
might want to stop at a liquor store.'
VPF (a short while later): So? How’s the brain cancer?
Me: I think Google is trying to tell me I’m from Jersey Shore.
Which I don’t understand, because that poufy one just spawned.
VPF: Dude, Snooki has refused to change her kid’s nappies. She
has hired a full time nappy cleaner-upper. I wouldn’t worry.
VPF: Apparently you have pedophobia. (Pedophobia: fear of babies and children. "Pedophobia" comes from the Greek word "pais" which means child.)
Me: Ew. That sounds awful. I think I’ll stick with ‘Babies.
Scarier than deadly disease.’
And then she
sent me numerous freaky-fresh-baby-photos. She was having far too much fun for my
liking. That’s like taking a friend to see The
Ring and telling her it’s about getting engaged. And THEN she reminded me
that she’s growing an ebola-zombie herself, and she’ll bring him round LOTS
before he inflates and learns to sit up. It was at this point I remembered that we're both going to hell, but a new thought struck me. What
if my hell is a nursery of fresh babies with colic?
Welp!
*This concept led to an interesting conversation with my work-twin, Amy:
Me: I'd probably eat my young if I ever bred.
Her: I can see it now. Mister Boo comes home from work. 'Honey, where's the baby?' He'll ask. You'll look shifty and say, 'Um, I dunno. In unrelated news, we're having a small stew for dinner.'
*This concept led to an interesting conversation with my work-twin, Amy:
Me: I'd probably eat my young if I ever bred.
Her: I can see it now. Mister Boo comes home from work. 'Honey, where's the baby?' He'll ask. You'll look shifty and say, 'Um, I dunno. In unrelated news, we're having a small stew for dinner.'
