Posted on May 11, 2009


Babies are an evil lot, they are. They’re all connivingly round, soft and sqooshable; a vicious ploy, a clever disguise, to have all grown-ups running circles around their chubby little digits.

They exploit that ‘adorable card’ handed out to them at birth, and send out telepathic messages to all adult-kind that suppresses their ability to talk straight.
It’s true. Just pop out a baby in the middle of a boxing ring and Evander Hollyfield will be on his knees in a second, coochie-cooing mindlessly as though in a trance. Presidential-hopefuls kiss babies not to appear more human to the public, but rather to earn the afore-mentioned babies’ favour (refer The Godfather).

And what lies beneath that deceitful veneer?
A little monster that pukes, poops and bawls. Not necessarily in that order, at no definite place, and most certainly not restricted to Godly hours. When they wake you up for that 2am feeding/diaper-change, that mournful weeping you hear is actually code for ‘I am your master!’
They kick up a fuss at dinner-time because they can, and they magically ‘unload’ the very minute you’ve strapped on a fresh diaper; knowing all along that a well-timed, one-toothed giggle will serve to erase any memory of that puree-splattered wall, or those now-shredded documents.

I’m not a mother (in case you’re wondering worriedly at the passion with which I indulge)…but I have been exposed to a period of nanny’ing for a couple of months two years ago. Yes…two years ago. And yet I haven’t forgotten..

All hail those mummies who manage to walk out of this daily battle with the smile of a martyr, and all limbs intact. Sleepless nights and months of accumulated fatigue are selflessly pushed aside for the little creatures they call their own.

And this bit’s just the beginning!



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