Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Baby Overboard

OK, first off, I'd like to say I have nothing against babies. They're great. In someone else's oven, arms, crib, whatever ...

I do not even mind looking perilously over a pram on occasion to smile tightly at rugrats in fake camaraderie but I really am not a baby person. I get rather nervous having to carry them and am always worried that they are going to wee or pooh on me.

However, I was properly brought up and know enough not to tell someone their child looks like Marty Feldman when they are cooing about the adorableness and gorgeousness of their funky-smelling offsprings.

Still, a line had to be drawn.

At one of the offices where I occasionally consult, there is a very nice, young man who always shyly makes a workstation available next to him when I am in town. Being rather quiet and inclined to wax lyrical about bonsais and gardening for hours, he's rather an outcast among the alkie-addled, club-dazed and shag-minded younger peers in the office. 

Needless to say, he and I get on like a house on fire. I rather like his earnest sincerity and the fact that he is such as serious young man with a very sweet, young wife meant I always tried to make time for them on my visits. 

This rather nice relationship continued for a couple of years. In that time, I also endeared myself to him unwittingly when I failed to notice that he had a prosthetic hand after a year of comfortable camaraderie. I had always just focused on his face and words and never even noticed. As I still do not notice. I was even invited to his wedding but had to miss it as I was out of town. Still, the sweethearts always send me festive cards and such.

A few months ago, his wife and him had a baby. Their first and understandably, they are over the moon. When I sallied forth to the office, he very excitedly informed me that it was a baby girl and she was perfect in every way. Awwww, bless, I thought.

"Do you want to see the photos then? She is just the most beautiful and adorable baby!"

"Alright, I'd love to."

He opens the photo album to its full, pull-out glory.

"Oh! Oh ... er, how ... sweet. Right, I have to rush in for that meeting now. Chat later, alright?"

I buggered off faster than Amy Winehouse to a crackhouse. Why? Because our man had taken pictures of his new-born. As in very new born. With umbilical cord and placenta debris and all. 

Look here, this is not on. Unsuspecting women of reluctant sensibilities towards the concept of motherhood should never be subject to that kind of trauma.

Off I go for a stiff drink and therapy. Rocks back & forth .. happy place ... happy place ...

By the way, the photo comes from As if his looks are not insult enough, his parents have rubbed wounds in his injury by naming him Wendell. Bless.