I was complaining to Dr. Boyfriend last Thursday morning that being one of the very few women in my office meant that I was going to be expected to care about the annual Take Our Daughters And Sons To Work Day and all of the tiny visitors it would bring. (And by all of, I mean all of two, because no one in my office is an adult.)
As a woman, I’m supposed to automatically care about and want to interact with children. Which I don’t. When I used to work at the children’s science center during college, I was always so envious of the one old guy in my department who had a bunch of stock questions he’d ask kids: “What did you have for breakfast?”, “How many years before you get to go to kindergarten?”, “Which is your favourite animal at the zoo?”
I never had those questions ready, so I was always fumbling around for something to talk about and ended up asking things like, “Have you ever accidentally seen Daddy kissing someone else’s mommy?” I was never first on the list when annual raise time came, as you can imagine.
But for as much as I had prepared myself to totally ignore the kids in our office on Thursday, I hadn’t prepared myself for this:
Come on! Baby Owen in multi-pocketed shirt AND pants, playing with Tim’s BlackBerry pouch, that totally squeezable belly hanging out of them? It almost makes me want to take this back.
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If I ever have a boy I’m going to dress him like that every day. (Minus the creepy pacifier.) And in the winter, sweater vests!
Seriously! Baby girls are always well-dressed, but a dapper young gentleman like Owen is a treat.
No pacifiers for little Kat?
Goddammit, Woman! Stop showing me pictures that make my ovaries punch me in the face more than they do already!
Next time, I’m going to pose him with kitties and bunnies.
It is important to remember that babies like Owen are an aberration; they’re designed to offset the negative feelings all the screaming, whining, snot-nosed hellbrats in the grocery store produce. Negative feelings that, if I’m being entirely truthful, manifest themselves in an urge to dwarf-toss the afore-mentioned hellbrats into the parking lot.
I have to admit, though, that Baby Owen makes me question my decisions. DAMN YOU, BABY OWEN AND YOUR PAINFULLY CUTE WARDROBE!
(And your cute dad. WHAT. I’m just being honest here.)
“(And your cute dad. WHAT. I’m just being honest here.)”
I was totally going to say something along those lines, too! So, you’re not alone in wanting to make out with him a little. And by a little, I mean a lot.
I guess that makes me third in line to bone.
Don’t say bone in front of the children! Spell it out so they can’t understand.
I believe our friend Emily has already claimed Tim for purposes of producing children with curly hair like his if his wife is ever out of the picture. But I’ll look into getting you on the waiting list for making out.
Owen truly is an aberration in the worst way, because when someone tried to hold him a few minutes later and he cried for his dad, even his crying was multi-pocketed, squeezable-bellied, and adorable.
I really think that baby-renting is the only way to solve this dilemma of kids being cute sometimes and hellbrats others. How much would you pay per hour to make other moms jealous by taking Owen to the park?
Listen to you and your totally feminist analysis of societal expectations that women be maternal!
Mama is so proud!
Yeah, funny how I love feminism when it directly affects me, huh? I’m fully behind any rioting you want to do concerning marriage, birthing, and “reclaiming” housewifehood.
Babies are cute as long as you can hand them right back to the parent.
I one-up you by never actually touching the babies in the first place. I merely admire from afar.
Well, the baby isn’t doing anything for me, but the Dad is totally cute.
LOL TALKING ABOUT GAY CROSS-GENERATIONAL ATTRACTIONS IN AN ENTRY ABOUT BABIES LOL.
Tim came to my desk after reading this to make sure he was understanding you correctly. As he’s only about ten years older than you are, the cross-generational thing had him a little spooked about what sorts of pervy people I know.
Oh, man. You have to tell me when the people you write an entry about are reading the entry. My face is all red and I feel like Tim hates me, now.
You set me up, woman.
No, Tim wants to B-O-N-E you back, but he’s decided he probably won’t show this to his wife.
Sorry, I ain’t bein nobody’s fagrag.
Tim should look on the bright side, though: Now he and Kamran can bond over your whoring them out to me. Got any other cute 30somethings up your sleeve?
Aren’t you in a loving, monogamous relationship?
If not, I’ll take pictures of everyone in my office, and you can have your pick.
I’m glad to see you showing some love to my baby boy, though Joanie’s reaction is a completely different story.
I swear she looked totally happy in all of the other pictures I took of her with Gavin! But, you know, happy-girl-holding-adorable-baby isn’t quite dramatic enough for me.