Bad Parent: Coochie, Coochie, Blecch
Parent-baby PDA grosses me out.
by Holly Vitale
January 10, 2008
"Yeah, I know — he's great like that." Then I can't think of anything else normal to say. It's like Sandra's enthusiasm over Kelly has completely usurped my ability to laud my own child.
She sighs and turns her attention back to Kelly, and they resume with some low-key nuzzling. It occurs to me, as I turn away, that I am some kind of prude when it comes to parental public displays of affection: that I actually disapprove of this type of thing. A kiss and cuddle here and there is actually a really nice thing to witness, but this exaggerated slathering in such close proximity makes me ill.
The whole prudishness thing is totally new to me. I've never been a prude about anything before, but here I am judging, feeling repulsed, developing a complex. This is kind of how I'd feel, I think, if Sandra were making out with her husband on my coffee table. When she and Kelly are cuddling, I even think, "get a room."
I resolve to get it together. This is kind of how I'd feel, I think, if Sandra were making out with her husband on my coffee table. I ask Sandra if I can hold Kelly. As I heft her onto my lap, I'm surprised by her cherubic girth. She's only a bit older than Fin, but feels twice as big. Maybe she's thriving more, due to her steady diet of über-love.
"Hello, sweet girl," I say, smoothing her clothes. "Look at your pretty skirt. Gosh, what a . . . pretty girl." I sound and feel ridiculous, so I set her down and hand her a toy. Then I contemplate raising Fin up and proclaiming him the Galactic Emperor of Cuteness, and letting loose a projectile of acclaim so swift, powerful and awesome, as to render my guests silent with awe.
But I don't. Too tired.
©2008 Holly Vitale and Nerve Media
About the Author
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Holly Vitale used to live in Portland, Oregon, but now lives in Tasmania, Australia, with her husband and nine-month-old son. Holly has had nine months worth of writer's block for anything not related to babies. |
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