I feel the need to get some things straight on my feelings about babies.  I tend to put things bluntly in order to be funny, but I forget that people I know and love are taking that plunge, that of creating replicas themselves into other living things, and I don’t want it to come off as offensive. (Like calling your baby a “replica” isn’t offensive. Great start, Jenn.)

Babies are great (she says through a forced smile).  No, really! They are cute and smushy and come with that new baby smell, like cars! Okay, that’s all I know for certain thus far. I’m sure there’s something in there about life-changing blah-blah and meaning of life blah-blah and a love deeper than you’ve ever known blah. I see that on the faces of mothers everywhere, but I think until I pop one out (heaven help us), it’s something that I’m not going to “get.” In addition, everyone that knows me knows that I’m not into babies because they take attention away from everyone else in the room.  Okay. Because they take attention away from me.

Don’t be afraid. You can hand me the baby.  I promise I won’t drop it.  I’ll make sure my voice goes up twelve octaves.  If I’m with it long enough, it might even warm my cold, cold ovaries.  But you’ll probably get this face:

Yup. That pretty much sums it up.