Whatever

This week, I can honestly say I’ve shaken more rattles and sniffed more sudocrem than I can care to remember. It all began rather innocently when last weekend I visited my old school friend Adam, who is now the proud owner of Lily, 6 months, temperamental starter, but reliable little number nevertheless (if you don’t want any sleep that is). As a non-parent, but of the sort of age where one starts to look fondly on new life, I found myself quite liking Lily. She has lots of personality, babbles a bit, dribbles, but thinks everyone (including me) is a brilliant new thing to examine. This baby started a rush. On Monday Ben, another pal from school announced he’d just become a dad for the first time, while Lynn, (in-between pub-quiz questions), was waxing lyrically about his new addition. As I went to visit Ben’s little bundle of joy, a warm tingle swept across me, as I found great pleasure seeing little Eleanor. But without warning, my new-found baby fascination turned rather sour. A colleague of mine, who has been off work for several months on maternity leave unexpectedly (well, to me anyway) suddenly appeared…wheeling her newborn with her into the office. Suddenly I was a shy, not particularly interested, stand-offish, slightly rude bloke, not quite knowing what to do as a predictable gaggle of cooing and ‘ahhs’ from my mostly female colleagues. I’ve decided I like babies, but not my colleagues’, and certainly not when they’re brought to work.