Holding

One of my cousins recently had a baby, and to me that means one thing this holiday season - avoiding holding him.

I successfully dodged that bullet at my wedding because he was asleep, but I'm not sure if he'll sleep through all of Christmas too. I really hope he does somehow, because I really get nervous holding babies. My friend Meghan's brother once said that babies should be encased in Tupperware until they're older, and I tend to agree. I have nothing against babies - I actually enjoy them - but I'm sure that if I was ever asked to hold one, I would drop and break it immediately. They're just so small and fragile. They don't even have hard skulls! There are days I can barely navigate my own body around the environment safely, I can't imagine I'd be very successful at sheilding someone else's.

Now, normally people can understand my discomfort. They laugh, sure, but they understand that my basic feeling is one of not wanting to hurt the little guy. However, there's one person that can't understand...the mother. It doesn't matter how much I smile at the baby, or how earnestly I tell her that I'm perfectly content to sit beside my sister or mom and admire the boy, that mother can't understand why I wouldn't want to personally cradle her bundle of joy. Some people get insulted. Years after my refusal to hold her firstborn, my aunt still brought up my "fear of babies." You'd think that the fact that I willingingly cuddled and played with her kids once they were at the wiggly stage would tell her that I didn't hate them, but no.

So instead I pass trays. I hold drinks. I keep my hands busy. And I bite back jealousy whenever one of my male cousins says, "Nah, I can't hold him," and everyone laughs and says, "Ahh, he's such a guy! That's okay. Hey, Chris hasn't held the baby yet!"

Maybe I can fake a wrist injury this year. I wonder where I could get a sling in time for Christmas.