I am not a baby person.
Last week I went to go and see R’s brand new 3 day old nephew.
And although for the first 5 minutes I was enthralled by his soft soft hair and tiny tiny fingernails, the next 4 hours were spent in utter boredom while everyone else sat enthralled by an immobile, sleeping infant.
I must say, the highlight of my weekend was R’s brother waving the little nephew’s freshly dirtied nappy in my face as he enthused about how it looked more yellow than black today.
But I sat and bared it and cleaned up his puke when he spat up all over himself and tried to look fascinated when the most interesting thing he did in an hour was pull a funny face as he pooped himself….again.
And I wondered to myself all the way home why people do this to themselves. Why would they want to introduce something into their lives for the next 18 years which will be a drain on their money, poop and puke over everything and be noisy and wake them up in the middle of the night because they’re bored.
We got home late and I was greeted by an excited and socially deprived cat.
After cleaning out his dirty litter tray, I fed him to stop him miaowing at the top of his lungs. Then sat and cooed over him as he playfully scratched my hands to shreds as we played. When me and R finally crawled into bed and the cat had finished ferociously attacking our feet through the duvet he crawled up in between us and adorably stretched himself out across the bed…horizontally.
And I snuggled up to his musty fur and fell asleep being deeply happy in my baby-less life and still pondering the mentality of parents and their unconditional love for their demanding offspring.