And that is exactly why I have never wanted to get too close to babies; it may be pedophobia or whatever you call it, but no matter how careful or good my intentions can be, I think I simply have bad juju around them.
Next time, I am going to stick to just safely watching them from afar, seeing them grow into little princes and princesses, and then gladly forking out the dough to get them more Ben 10 tees or Strawberry Shortcake figurines. And they are certainly more than welcome to hog the television and watch all the Pocoyo and Tom and Jerry reruns as many times as they like.
This has been always what I do best – giving them a sly wink or two, quietly leaving Vitagens within their reach on the coffee table, sneakily stuffing a toy car into their pockets for them to take home.
But absolutely not the monumental task of carrying or moving them around. Tactile contact is seriously off limits from now on.
As consolation, I am told that I, too, had been dropped on the head as a baby but turned out fine anyway. (Actually, that could also well explain my many eccentricities.)
So today, I am pretty convinced that I have just lost several years of my life.