They call it “PAEDOPHOBIA”- fear of infants and young children. I call it “Get that tiny crying pink thing away from me!” It is true- I have a very real and unrelenting fear of babies. If it’s under, say, 3 years old, I won’t go anywhere near it.
The scent of baby powder nauseates me, breaks me out into a cold sweat. I’ve never changed a diaper that I am aware of, and I have no idea what the hell a baby is supposed to eat. When a baby is in the room, I can sense it watching me with it’s cloudy bluish-black bug eyes, calculating my every move. I’m simply terrified, my heart beating in my throat.
Recently I “held” a baby. Rather, I got suckered into propping up a 3 month old on my knees and tentatively bracing it into a standing position with my fingers under her arms while she strained against me, stiff as a board with her bobble head wobbling about. I tried, really I did, to look her in the eyes and come to a basic understanding with her kind. I couldn’t do it. The baby pulled away from me and kept making squinchy faces whenever she looked at my forehead. She spent the entire 45 seconds I “held” her staring every which way and whimpering aloud.
I gladly passed her on to a freakish baby lover, wiping my baby-smelling hands on my jeans and searching frantically for the Purell. The baby instantly became engaged with her new audience, laughing open-mouthed, exposing her shining gums to her delighted new friend.
I moved to the other side of the room.
My entire fear of babies lies in my inability to understand them. I don’t know how to hold babies, so I fear dropping them or accidentally squishing those soft little heads in, like bruised fruit. I freak out when the baby starts crying, wailing with those monster lungs right in my face. It’s embarrassing to stand there holding a baby by the armpits while looking wildly for the nearest set of arms to shove the kid into while it’s bawling all over the place.
Babies fear me in return, I am positive of it. They sense my fear and take advantage of me, or freak out themselves. Or they mess with me to freak me out even more. I think they get a silent kick out of it, torturing baby avoiders.
They always spit up in front of me, too. I know babies spit up habitually, but they always ralph within my line of vision, that white curdly stuff pouring from their smiling mouths just as I walk by or scan the room in their direction. Without fail, I gag loudly in response, my eyes watering and bile sneaking its way up my throat. It’s embarrassing, makes my throat burn. Then the little suckers do it AGAIN, before I have a chance to recover from the first offense, causing me to gag even louder and have to excuse myself to the bathroom where I do some spitting up of my own. Grr…
Point 1 for baby. 0 for me.
It weirds me out when babies just sit there and STARE at nothing. I always wonder what they’re up to when those freakish oddly-hued eyes stare vacantly into space as if they are in a trance. even worse is when they stare right at ME- and continue staring. I feel their bug-eyes boring into my soul. It makes my hair stand on end.
I’ve babysat once or twice. Never an infant, and never alone. I don’t trust myself around babies, and I freely admit it. I’m just not a kid type of gal.
No mother instincts here. No ma’am.
I had to work in the BABY department during my stint at Wal Mart. Just being around all those baby bottles, onesies, bibs, thermometers, and diapers at 4 AM stocking things was enough to send me into little miniature panic attacks amidst all that paraphernalia.
The SMELL- that baby powder SMELL of that whole department haunts me to this day. I can smell THAT SMELL a kajillion miles away-it gives me the shudders just thinking of it. I steer clear of that whole aisle now.
I’m due to actually host a baby shower this weekend. You can bet your sweet ass I’m not going, though. I’ll fork out the dough, but I’m not going anywhere NEAR even the representation of baby.
Nuh uh- no way.
They say babies are cute, gurgly, the miracles of life. I say they’re screaming, smelly, beings of terror.
But maybe that’s just me.
