Babies-R-4-Some-of-Us

16 Apr

I don’t know about anyone else, but to me babies are frightening.  They are fragile, they are germaphobes, they have far too many bodily fluids and they are always complaining.  Whenever I get into close proximity with an infant I immediately feel the need to wash my hands- or scrub, rather, like a doctor prepping for surgery- and I am certain the infant is probably thinking the same thing.  Neither of us is entirely certain where the other has been.

This weekend a friend and I made the journey across town to buy a gift at a Babies-R-Us.  Assuming it’d be easy enough, we hesitated only slightly at the entrance, waltzed in with deep breaths, and looked immediately for the gift registry.  Sadly, it is at this point that I started to crack.  After about five minutes of confusedly attempting to understand the registry printout- I simply launched myself into the nearest aisle in the hopes of finding some warm and fuzzy baby-object.  It is impossible to describe how difficult of a process this was for me.  My instincts say ‘run!’ at the sight of cribs and cradles.  I get goose bumps when I see car seats and high chairs.  I don’t feel like I have to tell you, then, how quickly this little adventure was turning into a terrifying nightmare.  I shudder to think what my (male) friend had running through his noggin at that point, after seeing all those breast pump displays and special baby-related inflatable inner tubes (what for?!).

We both started hyperventilating somewhere amidst the pink and blue bedding which led to a full-on and unified panic attack; we bolted.  Just as we got to the door, however, I remembered how much I love my knocked up friend. Come on, if you can’t make it through one measly baby store, what kind of grit do you actually possess?  So I harnessed my chi, turned around, and bought the first few things I could find right there on aisle 1.  Well, the first few things I could understand.

What on earth is a breast milk bag? –Nope, I do not care to know.

In the end, having started looking for a fuzzy pink blanket with a monkey on it, I ended up getting them a sterilizer, baby bottles, baby bottle cleaning things, and pacifiers.  Really Lindsay? Correct- I got them cold and sterile gifts from my sweet tart sized heart (like the Grinch’s it is three sizes too small).  To make up for it I threw in a stuffed giraffe.

Lessons that I learned from this?  One should consume three vodka sodas before entering a Babies-R-Us, not after.  Also, Xanax might compliment the visit as well.

While my friends’ child is going to be a wonderful little girl and they are going to be amazing parents, I suppose I am just not ready at this juncture in life to conceive of conceiving.  Bless the sweet baby Jesus for condoms and birth control.  The thought of children still makes me cringe and I actually avoid most public places where I might run into the tikes.

That being said, the next day when I attended the baby shower, I quickly realized that not only would my friends be good parents; they are going to be awesome parents.  Jealous!  There was great food, men and women (no all-ladies party sitting around drinking white Russians through baby bottles), and a host of fun conversation.  And while there were kids running around, the Jameson in my blood kept me from freaking out and might have contributed to the moment when I fell in love with a four-year-old named Kyle.  He had on a tie with skull and crossbones, for starters.  Then he made me a table out of Lincoln Logs.  It was color-coded.  Seriously, who could possibly resist that?  I’m still waiting for grown men to do the equivalent of building me a Lincoln Log table.  Alas, he found a new girlfriend when three-year-old Leslie drew him a heart.  That skank.  I can draw a better one.  But it was a good reason to call it a day and go home and pray for my period.

Congrats to J and M!  Y’all are going to have a lovely child.  I am so proud of your success and achievements in life.

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