Babies, eh? Definitely an acquired taste. Oh, I know there are those who, from a very young age, just can’t get enough of that drool-y pinkness, as demonstrated by their cannibalistic exclamations of “She’s delicious!”, “I could just eat him up!”, and other unsettling expressions of endearment (more on this anon).
Confession time: I wasn’t one of them. Even baby dolls grossed me out. I had no experience of infants until after my babysitting teens, my youngest charges having been toddlers, and didn’t feel the cooing baby lust of my high school contemporaries who, for some very embarrassing reason, were singing the “Sesame Street” songs about sunny days and being green as reverently as “Go Your Own Way” in the smoking room* (second confession: Fleetwood Mac makes my teeth feel loose).
But I did want a baby brother. My actual brother was a year older than me, so it would be easy to suppose that I simply wanted revenge (won’t go into it), but truly, I think I wanted to be a hero, a protector, a role model, and a life-long friend.
It was great good fortune that our daughter – also no fan of babies real or plastic (including the very expensive American Girls number plus accessories; she was, however, the grand overseer of a huge Breyer horse collection and more stuffed animals than a small toy store), had a little brother just over three years after her birth. She and he, adults now, are everything I wished for in the older sister/younger brother dynamic. They make us proud.
As for the above-mentioned expressions of delight upon seeing some wobbly little goober in a shopping cart gumming a free store cookie, well, have one or more of your own and see how quickly you start wiping the glop off their faces as you utter “Aw, what a luscious little love. I just want to nibble her to death.” Welcome to the club, you ghoul.
*My high school, like most in the late 70s, not only had a designated indoor smoking room (across from the cafeteria), but we could smoke anywhere on campus outdoors. And everyone did. Kids played Frisbee with Marlboros hanging out of their mouths. Varsity athletes smoked more than cigarettes. Ah, *cough cough* Youth!