The Baby Paradox

Babies are a paradox.  They’re perplexing, disarming, frustrating creatures that can change your cooos to curses in split seconds, and then back again.

Those hands that yank your hair so hard you kick the dog are the same hands that gently stroke your cheek when you least expect it.

But then again, the voice that sweetly murmurs sounds that could be your name (I swear this time it was with MEANING) is the same voice that screeches with rage when you take away the wetwipes.

The science diagram below attempts to explain the inner workings of your average 10-month-old puppetmaster.

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As you can see, the tricky thing with babies is that the very appendages that show you love, or at least a cat-like acknowledgement of your necessity, are the same things that vex you the most.

It seems that they’re made pretty perfectly. In the image of God even. That ideal balance exists, and it’s practically a survival tactic.

For every rancid poop you get on your thumb there’s a pristine flank of unsurpassed squidginess that needs to be smooshed. It’s science.

My boy kissed me for the first time yesterday. I was lying on the ground when he 4×4’d over to me, dabbed his open mouth on my cheek and then lurched away. It was clumsy and perfect and I was the queen of the world.

Made me forget that he’d woken at 5am, breezed through two nap times and got asparagus in his ear.

Babies are cool that way.

For every sleepless night, for every tantrum, there’s a moment when they see into your eyes and recognise you as pack, as blood, as theirs.

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8 thoughts on “The Baby Paradox

  1. You have captured the paradox so sweetly, Jen, and I know exactly what you mean. Today Cam was “feeding” me milkshakes, which was actually a hosepipe attachment filled with dirt, while addressing me as “Queen.” And in that moment, I really felt like one.

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