So, I've reached that time in my life where everyone I know is having babies. When I was younger, it was a just baby here and there, from time to time. Now they seem to be the going thing. It's as if all my friends decided at once, “It's time to grow up! Let's have some kids!” Was there a meeting? Why didn't you call me?
|Don't answer that.|
At first, it was just a Facebook thing – friend after friend posting “I Have a Baby!” albums, with picture after picture of babies, lying on blankets, making the same faces that all babies make, and stretching and things like that. I said to myself, “Sure, alright, I'm at that time in my life where everyone I know is having babies. Of course they're going to put up pictures. Hell, I have an entire album dedicated to my cat, who am I to talk?”
Then the babies started appearing in my neighborhood. Now, I can't turn around without tripping over a pram.
|Sorry I tripped over your pram. ~ Nate Gregg|
Don't get me wrong, I like babies. They're the right size to hold in your lap, and they don't complain when you heave them up in the air (unlike some adults I could mention). They smell good and they're cute.
Well, some of them are cute. That's the thing about babies – you've got to make like they're cute even when they're not. You can't come out with, “Damn, that's an ugly baby. Then again, you're no prize yourself.”
You can't say that. Babies are like kittens – they're always, always cute.
|ALWAYS. ~ M. Minderhoud|
In fact, I have to say, I prefer babies to children. I reckon that's the drawback to babies – like kittens, they grow up. Cats, like teenagers, glare a lot and sometimes commit property damage.
I mean, I'd probably be pretty good at telling stories and fixing boo-boos and stuff like that, but you know I'd be getting a lot of phone calls from the school about the choice words Johnny uses.
Kids ask a lot of questions, and I don't think I could resist the temptation to bullsh*t them a little. How does electricity work? Magic! Where do babies come from? The vending machine in the gas station rest room. Why are clouds fluffy? Because they're made of sheep.
|Baaaaaa. ~ Kevin Dooley|
Don't blame me – blame my Dad. When I was about four years old, Dad shaved off his (truly manly) beard. When he came out of the bathroom, I didn't recognize him anymore. I probably didn't even realize he had a face.
I asked, “Are you my Daddy?”
“No!” he cackled. “I'm an impostor! Your real Daddy slipped down the drain!”
I was terrified of the bath after that, which created problems my father richly deserved.
So, yeah, I think I might refrain from creating a brood of foul-mouthed, beautiful genuises, no matter how humble they may be. Thanks for keeping the baby thing nailed down for me, guys.