I don't like it when babies touch me. Yeah. I said it. Something negative about babies. Now, I know that most people won't care about what I have to say about babies. Positive or negative. But every now and again I meet someone who thinks their baby is somehow different/special/made of rainbows.
I'm sorry. Your baby is not made of rainbows.
Your baby is a person. And often, a dirty person. A strange baby running up to me and grabbing on me is not unlike an unwashed hobo running up and grabbing me. I've experienced both on numerous occasions, and each instance involves a smelly human being with no regard for personal space and absolutely lacking anything akin to coherency.
So, one day I was sitting in your standard bureaucratic style waiting room. There is, of course, a baby present. The baby is alternating between unmitigated joy and the deepest despair ever felt by any human ever. The baby is bored. The baby wants attention. And the mother is clearly not interested in giving said baby said attention.
This is where I come in.
Not by choice, mind you. See, I'm like a baby magnet. They are drawn to me like I'm made of sugar. I''m reading a book, as comfortably absent from reality as I can be (which as anyone who knows me is very, very absent), when the aforementioned baby walks across the room and decides I am a jungle gym. The baby is crawling on me instantly. I am uncomfortable and alarmed. So naturally, I put my hands on the baby, gently lifting it down and placing it on the floor where it belongs. The baby is ON me after all.
Cue howling baby. Cue angry mother. I touched her baby. How dare I. The outrage of the mother is indescribable. Her words cease being words. they blur together in a symphonic harmony of anger and fury. I try to plead my case, but there is no break in the motherly rage I am forced to endure.
So I leave. Very aware that the mother in question now has a significantly shorter time ahead of her in the bureaucratic style waiting room.
I'm sorry. Your baby is not made of rainbows.
Your baby is a person. And often, a dirty person. A strange baby running up to me and grabbing on me is not unlike an unwashed hobo running up and grabbing me. I've experienced both on numerous occasions, and each instance involves a smelly human being with no regard for personal space and absolutely lacking anything akin to coherency.
So, one day I was sitting in your standard bureaucratic style waiting room. There is, of course, a baby present. The baby is alternating between unmitigated joy and the deepest despair ever felt by any human ever. The baby is bored. The baby wants attention. And the mother is clearly not interested in giving said baby said attention.
This is where I come in.
Not by choice, mind you. See, I'm like a baby magnet. They are drawn to me like I'm made of sugar. I''m reading a book, as comfortably absent from reality as I can be (which as anyone who knows me is very, very absent), when the aforementioned baby walks across the room and decides I am a jungle gym. The baby is crawling on me instantly. I am uncomfortable and alarmed. So naturally, I put my hands on the baby, gently lifting it down and placing it on the floor where it belongs. The baby is ON me after all.
Cue howling baby. Cue angry mother. I touched her baby. How dare I. The outrage of the mother is indescribable. Her words cease being words. they blur together in a symphonic harmony of anger and fury. I try to plead my case, but there is no break in the motherly rage I am forced to endure.
So I leave. Very aware that the mother in question now has a significantly shorter time ahead of her in the bureaucratic style waiting room.
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