Wednesday, July 21, 2010


Of course I haven't figured it out completely, but I've got the beginnings of an answer.

I have never liked babies, O Best Beloved. And I can name the basic reasons—the stuff that no one really falls for—they smell bad, they're needy, they are noisy, and such. And additionally, for me, it's probably my lack of overall patience. However, I have just now figured out what I think the unique root of my distaste might be.

Yesterday morning while I was getting ready for the day I was thinking about my sister, Haley's, kiddo Addison. Ladies and germs, this miniature human is absurdly cute.

She's so cute that it makes me want to tie off the ole fallopians; 'cause no matter what—I mean really, no matter what—whatever Romo and I spawn in escapades producin' fruit o' the loins couldn't possibly be that adorable. And we wouldn't want our little thing to feel bad about itself from day one, now would we? (Even if no one tells you, you know if someone's 10 levels better looking that you are; it's innate methinks.) We could't produce anything to parallel that kid's adorableness, so why even try? Addie mastered cute in the Peterson gene pool. We Romos may as well try to do something else of note. (Leave me all the way alone on my logic here, okay?)

Something that may be key in all this: that adorable piece of flesh is the spitting image of her mother as a little 'un.

Anyway, back to the original thought: I was thinking about my sister's kid, and here's what I was thinking . . . I talked with Haley a couple days ago, and when we were getting off the phone I said, Kiss your kid hello for me. And we hung up. And then I thought, What the hell? I've never said that before. And, weird of all weirdness, I meant it. What's the deal? 'Cause, let's be honest here, though at the heart of my soul I love Addison because she's my blood, by no fault of hers I've never been all that interested in her.

Wait, don't go! I have to explain—

My life's experiences so far have shaped me into someone who coos like a maniac over dogs, but nods politely (mostly) when someone displays their newly-produced baby. Whatever. Seen one, seen 'em all.

I realize that it can be off-putting, but like I said, this is the result of my life's experiences. I own the world's most attractive dog. No, again—really! this is God's honest truth. I have no idea how we got so lucky and landed the most adorable animal ever created, but because Sophelia is so damned cute we can never get her a Yorkie companion. We wouldn't want the addition to have poor self esteem, but it would be bound to happen, for though we'd never tell her, this new Yorkie would be "the ugly one." No matter how adorable the new dog might appear next to other canines, she'd be ugly compared to Soph. It's a sad truth that we've come to face. I mean, good grief, look:

So thanks to my baby beastie's good looks and her spunky personality, I am a dog person. She has enchanted me.

Babies, they haven't enchanted me, O Best Beloved. They're just something that everyone seems to be able to have (for the most part). Unique? Hardly.

And it has occurred to me just now what the root of my lack of interest in babies might be. They kill my self-esteem.

People, I'm funny. It's true. In real life, in person, I am funny. Quick-witted and silly, I can make just about anyone laugh. But babies, they don't fall for my act. They just sit there staring. They don't get me. Toddlers, however—which Addie has been blossoming into—they are moving into the beginnings of responsiveness. No, they don't get my joke about the NASA administrator, but if I play around with a toddler on a toddler-like level, they respond. We can interact. They're seated in a pleasant in-between stage—just starting to become interesting and not quite to that 8-year-old-so-annoying-that-I-wish-it-weren't-frowned-upon-to-stuff-you-in-my-car's-trunk stage.

Babies don't thrill me because presently I require a certain kind of interaction and they just aren't pickin' up what I'm layin' down. I need an engaged audience. And now that Haley's child is becoming someone who can do a better job of feeding my ego, I have more interest than just staring and wondering how anything human could be so good looking. (Not enough interest to want to go buy one of my own or kidnap her, mind you, but this is progress—and not feeling compelled to kidnap her is probably a good thing, yes?)

It's sick. It's sad. It's pathetic. It's whatever adjective you'd like to apply to it, but it's also what came from some serious introspection while I primped and flat-ironed my hair.

(If you caught on to the irony in that last bit there you'll see just how funny I really am. And if the irony floated right past you, remind me to interact with you on a toddler level. I can charm you that way too.)


Sue said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Megan said...

Not supposed to make you feel anything at all. It's just a discovery. An inflammation of ego that could use quelling.

Haley said...

Ah, well shucks. Thanks Aunt Megan. She is pretty adorable, if I do say so myself, and I am happy to know that you think she is adorable as well! I LOVE this post. Thanks for making my day.

Mal Robin said...

I very much enjoyed that. I too think Addie is to die (or kidnap) for.

I also think you are extremely funny.