None of your babies are that cute. Yeah, I said it.
They’re not impressive, or unique, or special or particularly interesting to look at. And yet, it is impossible for me to quietly lurk through Facebook without being accosted by photos of all your unremarkable children.
Just last week I was scrolling through my news feed when, alas, there it was. Yet another unsolicited baby. Christ.
OK, OK, baby. You’re tiny and soft and helpless. I get it. And you’ve got that disproportionate eye to face ratio that makes you look sweet and innocent. Angelic even. And you probably smell like powder and sunshine. With those precious chubby wittle cheeks and that itty bitty cutesy wootsey wittle pink jumper -- arrgh. I’m so unimpressed with you, I could vomit.
As a matter of fact, I think am. I can feel it oozing up my chest. It’s at the back of my throat now. See what you’ve done, baby? You and your mediocrity are going to make me throw up all over my computer screen. It’s in my mouth now. I feel it. Here it comes!
“Who the hell said that?” I snap and look over my shoulder for the ovulating sucker who must have snuck into the room behind me. But, no, there’s no one there. Just me. And the baby. I’m the ovulating sucker and that ear-piercing squeal that’s still reverberating around the room? That came outta me.
It started off innocently enough, with me cooing over real-life, in-the-flesh babies at the market. A few years ago, I would do it because I felt like acknowledging a small baby was something that I was supposed to do. But now I don’t do it out of some awkward societal imposed obligation. Now I coo over babies because I actually want to coo over babies.
And for me, a person who generally plain ol' doesn’t like kids, fussing over live action babies was bad enough. So imagine my horror when I started doing it to two-dimensional ones.
I mean, seriously. Baby photos? My former arch nemesis? They were, literally, my biggest pet peeve.
“Stop posting photos of your damn children,” is the status I’d fantasize about putting up on Facebook every day. “OK, you want to spend every waking hour staring at your baby, but why would you think everyone else does?!”
Because they’re friggin awesome, early-20s-Shayla! Don’t you see that? Babies are totally precious. They're so cute, it’s almost painful. So don’t fight it, hun. Just accept it.
And I did for a while. But now I don’t just tolerate baby photos, I anticipate them. Are you hearing me, people? I look forward to seeing the pictures of your babies. What the entire fuck?
And I’m not even sure when, or more importantly why, this happened. There’s been no new nieces and nephews, no enlightening encounter with a random newborn that helped me achieve baby-loving self-actualization. Nothing. Just time and (gulp) maturity.
Could it be that my biological clock has ticked its way into this mess? I just turned 29 and I still don’t have a desire to have a baby, but is this how it starts? Is my uterus conspiring to get me to notice how achingly adorable those things are so that it can finally become occupied? Can it do that?!
I’m just not sure. But in the meantime, all you mamarazzi keep flooding social media with photos of those precious little angels. You guys are still obnoxious to most of the Internet, but you’re no longer obnoxious to me.