I’ve never been very big on babies. Infants. Little children. Crying diaper bombs.
They’re sort of crazy in their tiny-sized proportions. Little itty-bitty fingernails. Barely-there eyebrows. Not much control over their appendages — let’s face it… they’re floppy. It’s sort of terrifying to be responsible for making sure their head doesn’t fall off if you hold one.
They have gummy little mouths with no teeth, and can go from looking like miniature (young) people to little old wrinkled people in the flicker of an expression, a grimace.
No, I’ve never quite felt that feminine urge to feel a tiny little alien human growing inside of me — depending on who you talk to the idea of such a form of incubation is either “amazing” or “completely whack.” While my best friend Sarah falls into the former category, I fall into the latter. (But I don’t love her any less for it! In fact, as a mother of two she’s earned my complete and utter respect and awe. I’ll be the first to admit that my terror resides deeply in the “I know what I did to MY parents” category, and I’m not a sadomasochist.)
As much as I’ve never fully embraced the idea of procreation — the HAVING and RAISING part, not the MAKING part — I did find myself somewhat captivated by Caleb, Sarah’s perfect two-week-old creation and the quietest baby in the universe.
I spent about six hours with the Jones family on Caleb’s two-week birthday, and while he’s quite the grunter, a breather and sigher, he only cried once and that was because he was naked and cold, getting his butt wiped with a wet towelette. Hey, I’d cry too.
Upstairs in Big Sister Catelyn’s room, I faced a gigantic dilemma: hold the quiet, sleeping infant swaddled in blankets, or attempt to undress, change a dirty diaper and get a cranky two-year-old into her pajamas? (Hint: think back to what I said earlier about not being a sadomasochist.)
Of course I opted to offer to hold the baby, and I think Sarah’s eyebrows touched her hairline in surprise before the corners of her mouth reached for her earlobes in what had to be the Biggest Smile Ever as she questioned my request.
“Yes,” I assured her. “I want to hold the baby.”
To tell the truth, it really wasn’t that bad. Or scary. It was warm and snuffly. Man that kid can sleep! Feed him, bundle him up so he’s nice and toasty and he’s OUT. I think he must be part cat…
But I did have to repeat to myself, as I accepted this precious bundle from his mother, the words of wisdom from my friend Jamie, “Don’t be scared because [infants are] floppy, they’re harder to break when they’re like that!”
Behold and bear witness, world wide interwebs: I held my first infant today!
Disclaimer: No babies were harmed for the creation of this post.