Over Christmas break, I went to see my good friend Bryce, his wife Jody, and their adorable baby Claire. At least, I think their baby is named Claire. At my age, everyone has a baby, and their names all run together. Let’s go with Claire, but it could just as easily be Felicity, Emily, or Rick.
Claire is pretty adorable. I mean, most babies are adorable. But Claire has one of those angelic faces that says, “I dare you to not adore me.” In fact, that was her first sentence.
So I was hanging out with Bryce, Jody, and Claire, and I remembered that holding babies is one of my favorite things. Seriously. Even though I don’t know if I want to have kids, there is no peace like that of holding a baby. I could guarantee you that I could achieve world peace if you gave me a billion babies to hand out to all of the bullies, dictators, and Community haters of the world (okay, maybe I’ll need 6.9 billion babies).
It’s even better than holding cats. There. I said it. Good thing Biddy doesn’t read this blog.
So I asked Bryce if I could hold Claire for a minute. I had just washed my hands, so I was free of all the toxins that curse us adults (did I mention on the blog that the vast majority of grocery store cart handles are awash with fecal matter? Yeah. Think about that the next time you shop). Bryce held the baby out to me…
[I want to pause here, because it is in this moment that my greatest fear happens. The fear that I am not going to receive the baby properly and that I’m going to drop this perfect little being and it’s going to break and I’m going to be responsible for killing an angel. It is a terrible, terrible fear. It isn’t helped by the fact that you can’t grab a baby like a football. Babies are squishy and dainty. So you are faced with the impossible task of gently receiving this squirming, fragile bundle in a firm grip so you don’t drop it.]
…and I successfully received Claire and brought her to my shoulder. Success. Touchdown. No dropped baby.
Mothers will confide in you, “Oh, I’ve dropped babies before. It’s fine.” But that doesn’t fly in my world. I mean, if you’re a mother, you’ve picked up or received babies thousands of times. One drop and you’re still essentially batting 1.000. Me? I’ve picked up/received maybe 20 babies. One drop and I’m out of the game.
Does anyone else share this fear? Does any father not share this fear at some point?
You can see my other greatest fears here.