My little Oliver is a popular guy. People love meeting him, and family members beg to watch him. Even strangers want him. When I unexpectedly encounter old friends, they walk right past my out-stretched hand to get a glimpse of the creature riding in my stroller. I can’t blame them. His round pudgy physique and reddish hair have been known to draw crowds. Cheering crowds. Some might say he’s the Beyonce of babies.
Even friends that usually deem babies fragile or creepy have warmed up to his charms. I assured them that he won’t break, and that he won’t stalk them. In the end, he smiles, giggles and poops his way into their hearts (much like the cast of Jackass, but cuter and younger, and without tasers). Few people can resist the power of my baby.
With all that said, some people remain extremely scared of infants and small children. I empathize, since I long shared their feelings. Long ago, I refused to hold infants, even when sitting down, and avoided eye contact with toddlers because I feared they would ask me questions. I have been converted by force. My baby has magical powers, and he will now convert the world. I still have a few good friends that fear infants, and my baby plans on destroying those fears one visit at a time.
One friend in particular had the opportunity to meet my baby this week. He approached the little guy slowly, as one would approach a mean celebrity or a poisonous snake. With a subtly shaky voice, he attempted to engage Oliver in conversation. The friend timidly made eye contact, reached out his hand, and mumbled something. Until the day I die, I will swear that I heard him say “Good puppy.”
My little Oliver may be a popular guy, but some fears never die. This one is going to be tough to overcome.