Having a baby brings on all kinds of new phenomena for a new parent. For the baby, everything is new and each new day brings a new discovery. Babies are always learning. The same can be said for a new parent. Each day brings a new and sometimes strange realization. Most recently, I’ve learned that people like touching random babies. It’s bizarre.
There is a certain, intangible quality about a baby in public. People like to look at it as if they’ve never seen one before. Some of the more forward people like to try to interact with it. They may ask its name as if it has any bearing whatsoever on their existence. A few of the more adventurous folk like to try to reach out and touch the baby. This is where I draw the line. The only thing I despise more than human contact is when some weirdo tries to touch my son. The next time some old broad in public tries to feel my son, I’m going to yank her walker out from under her, beat her husband with it, and throw the tennis balls away. Try to slide effortlessly across a smooth surface now with no tennis balls, granny!
The most baffling quality of public baby-touchers is that they are only interested in touching the baby. Throughout my journeys, I’ve tried a number of tactics to prevent the baby-touchers from contacting my son, one of which was offering up myself for free touching. Oddly enough, none of the baby-touchers were interested in touching me instead. Why is this? I’m of the same biological essence as a baby. I’m moderately chubby and silky smooth. I’m even mentally innocent and pure. I possess numerous baby-like qualities. But they remain steadfast in their desire to touch only the baby and not me. Strange indeed.
The baby-touchers are a persistent group. Try to turn away so they cannot reach the child, they’ll make a move in another direction. Try to take a step back, they’ll take a step forward. Slap their hand out of the way and they’ll look at you like you assaulted them. Pour gasoline over them and set them ablaze, and they’ll scream with horror as if YOU are the one who was out of line.
If you’re out in public with your baby, rest assured that I have no interest in touching it. None. It is a baby. I have one. I’ve seen one. I was one. And I’m generally familiar with what a baby feels like. Unless you’re carrying around a mogwai in a woven wrap, you won’t have to worry that I’ll be the one trying to touch it.
So let this be a warning to new parents everywhere who’ve not yet experienced this phenomenon. The baby-touchers will find you and will stop at nothing until they’ve made contact with your baby.