I’m just going to come out and stay it. I don’t like your baby.
Okay, not just your baby, but babies in general, apart from the custom made one I have sleeping down the hall. And there were some days when I wasn’t all that keen on him either.
I’ve always had this problem. I think I’m missing the gene. I don’t want to hold your baby. I don’t want to feed him or her. I’m cool with visiting you and watching you do all of those things, but please don’t call attention to my desire to not touch your child.
When I was pregnant this was blown up to an insane degree. No, I don’t want to hold that baby so I can “get some practice.” Especially since in the same breath, you just told me that I would never fully be prepared for motherhood. Then why make me hold that kid!? And yes, I hope that holding a baby “looks good on me,” since, from what I understood about childbirth, I wasn’t really going to do much to stop it.
Anyone who knew pre-motherhood me knows that I am just not a baby kinds girl. I teach high school. I like sports. I like crude humor. I LOVE my child, but just not your baby.