“I’d feel sorry for babies if they didn’t have it so easy”
I would never say that out loud. Most people are not so considerate and say all sorts of wild things to babies. Lucky for babies, they don’t understand language.
It must be scary enough having giant, animated eyes right up against your face when you’re strapped in a high-chair, without taking in the vivid description of what your cuteness will lead to.
“I’m going to get two slices of bread, yes I am! I’m going to butter them and make myself a lovely big sandwich! And who’s going to be in the sandwich? You! Yes, that’s right, I’m going to shake some salt and pepper all over you and I’m going to bite your little legs, show me those — Oh! They are so cute, I’m going to eat you right up!”
I’d feel sorry for babies if they didn’t have it so easy. Everybody tells babies how cute they are all the time. They point at a cow and everyone moos. I get maybe one compliment a week, and zero moos.
The thing is, I go to a lot of parties. Who am I telling? I’m sure you’ve heard all about my party lifestyle, I’m East Cork’s answer to Miley Cyrus, for crying out loud. So, as you can imagine, I know a thing or two about chitchat. It can be boring, but it’s much needed — it greases the wheels of the gossip cart so that the whole party can hop aboard and ride along smoothly into the night. Adults know the ins and outs of chitchat, and help each other out with little nudges.
Like this, “Actually, funny you should say that — Henry has the same problem with his left knee”.
It goes on like this until something conversationally fun happens.
You can forget about doing that with a baby. They are no help in a social situation and will leave you hanging as soon as you can say, “Oh, where did you get these olives? They’re wonderfully flavourful.”
The smallest people in the room, and they won’t engage in small talk. It’s one thing to be socially awkward, it’s quite another to remain completely silent and staring right through my best Craig David anecdote.
Nobody maintains direct eye contact like a curious baby. It’s forbidding and, dare I say, quite rude.
Far be it from me to judge anyone, but sometimes I’m the only one brave enough to speak up. Often I’m selfless enough to say what everyone else is thinking. This is one of those times, so I’ll just come out and say it. Babies are lazy.
Not one of them do a tap of work, inside or outside the home. They’ll argue that they’re not qualified to practise law, or dextrous enough to cut hair, but anyone can do a bit of dusting or put away the crockery, surely? You’d think so, but the last time I handed a baby a tea towel all it led to was a 20 minute peek-a-boo session, and no drying up.
Even if you sit them down and set to work on the vacuuming yourself, they’ll slump over and start to cry. They don’t work, so you must, and yet they complain when you do. It’s not like they’re not materialistic. Oh no, they insist on all kinds of props and paraphernalia and they like these things to be nice too. Crisp, white bibs, top of the range soothers and countless designer nappies — all taken for granted by most babies I know.
All this baby talk might make you wonder about my motives. What’s up with me? Am I going to have a baby? That depends who’s asking, sailor. Not right this minute — I’m not even pregnant. At least I hope I’m not.
I sometime watch those TV shows where a lady is minding her own business, eating a bowl of parsnip soup and suddenly there’s a sneaky little foot poking right out of her skirt. Those shows make me nervous, and I double check.
Here’s a handy money-saving tip — you don’t need to buy a pregnancy test from the chemist or the €1 shop, simply take a moment to think about that radio ad for tea where the old man buys a train set for his grandchild. If you well up, you’re pregnant.
Let me be the first to wish you congratulations, or is it commiserations? Oh, I never know what to say!
* Maeve plays Kinsale Arts Festival on Friday July 12. * www.kinsaleartsfestival.com
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