Visitors

There are lots of visitors in the early days: friends, relatives, neighbours, work colleagues, you name it – if they come round holding some kind of gift and have any vague connection to Mum or Dad, they just let them waltz right in and pick me up. And all these people have an opinion about who I look like. They say things like

‘Oh my God. She’s exactly like her dad.’

And I think

‘That’s a pretty weird thing to say. I mean he’s a grown man, sort of averagely good-looking, and I’m really quite a cute baby.’

The worst thing is when these visitors come with unwanted opinions – like Grandma, for example. It’s clear to me that, if I’m crying it’s because I’m utterly furious and I need attention right away. But Grandma leans over me and says things like,

‘That’s just a protest cry, isn’t it? That will help you get to sleep.’ Or ‘That’s good. You air those lungs.’

‘What?’ I want to shout back at her. ‘I’m angry. I’m flipping mad and I need to be picked up right away.’

Other kids are pretty annoying too. The bigger ones come right over and get right in my face and everyone thinks it’s cute, or they drop bits of rice cake on all my new stuff. As for any smaller ones, they don’t seem to do anything. On one night, this little newborn came round and everyone just wouldn’t shut up about how I was so interested in him and we were going to be such great friends – me and him. What a joke! I wasn’t the slightest bit interested in him – I mean he barely even opened his eyes.

Then there are also these absolutely excruciating mornings where Mum has other mothers round and I’m put on the playmat while they all eat biscuits and talk about how hard it all is and how it is so nice to drink a cup of tea WARM, and all the while I can hear some other baby with music blaring, having the bloody time of their life in my Jumperoo.

 

Newborn

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