Tuesday, July 12, 2011


I've discussed my fear of babies before. When you combine that with the fact that I know absolutely nothing about birthing babies, some have a tendency to think my internal biological clock was likely never working properly in the first place. I am 100% ok with that. I'm at an age where several of my friends (mostly those who are far away) are starting families or have tiny tots, which means I've had the honor of telling my friends that their wee one is adorable and precious over Facebook or text message, while occasionally dropping by to pinch a cheek before more than likely settling in to play with their dog.

Generally speaking my friends know that I'm not a baby person. They know I don't deal well with squiggly, screaming little ones; that I refuse to change any sort of diapers, and that I will not under any circumstance watch their child until he or she is old enough to use the bathroom unassisted. I'm just naturally more comfortable with children who can physically tell me what they want and take care of their own personal needs.

Its been established that I would be the sort of auntie who will teach the children the sort of things their parents don't want them to know but are vital to grade school and middle school existence. Crude and funny things like how to make farting noises with their armpits, the importance of a well timed "yo' mamma" joke, and  that their faces will most certainly not freeze if they smoosh them up a just cleaned door window. I'm the one who will feed them things their parents won't let them eat or drink and teach them the fine art of mixing pop rocks and soda in one mouthful. I'll introduce them to music their parents deem unfit and tell them stories about their parents younger days that their parents will probably deny or claim to have forgotten. I'll teach them how to blow bubbles out of thick pink bazooka chewing gum and how to skip stones on the river.

My position on babies and children was clearly defined. Then, about 9 months ago, one of my closest longtime childhood friends found out she was expecting. A few months later, she found out she was carrying twins. A week and a half ago, she and her husband welcomed two tiny (or not so tiny for twins, one was almost 6 lbs and the other over 7 lbs) squiggly little baby boys.

In the days that followed their birth, I sort of tiptoed around the boys. While I paid attention to them occasionally stopping to marvel over how perfect they are or hold one of their tiny little hands, I was more concerned about how my friend, their mother, was doing. Yesterday, I stopped by their house with the intent on checking in to see how they were doing. Two screaming kidlets, one tired, frazzled mother later, I quickly found myself with a baby and bottle in hand. With absolutely no idea of what to do, I shoved the bottle in his little mouth and begged him to stop crying. I may have also promised him a pony for his third birthday. Over the next few hours I realized that maybe babies aren't so scary after all. Apparently these two little twin boys and I are going to learn a lot from each other in the up coming weeks and months. I still don't plan on changing any diapers though.