Sunday, December 14, 2008
Yesterday I went to a birthday party for Jeannie's kid, who turned one. The party was mostly their family and a few friends, and I think was more for them than actually for the baby since there was only one other baby there, but it was an ok afternoon if you like standing around for a couple hours watching the baby ignore the other baby and bang presents on the floor.
Over the years I have been accused of hating babies, and I'd like to go on record as saying that's not true. I don't hate babies. It's not like I look at one and thing, "I wish that was on fire". It would be safer to say that I have an aversion to them, and I can illustrate my reasons with this photo from yesterday:
That's how all babies look to me all the time: sticky, smeared with unknown substances, and torn between shrieking and reaching out for you with their dirty hands. I'm sure people who have babies learn to overlook these things, but I can't get past it, like the mental block that keeps me from enjoying raw tomatoes. I don't hate babies; I hate being sticky, and I'm convinced that's totally normal.