maybe you'll be a decent parent, Mikey. just not a decent co-worker.

Let me be clear here.


I get a kick out of babies. Baby humans, baby dogs (also commonly known as puppies), BabyBel cheeses- I love them all.




In fact, I adore babies so much that more often than not, when I'm in a setting with an infant human, I go into a subconscious trance where I-must-hold-the-child. Like, pronto. I start speaking unabashedly in the trademark nauseating high-pitched baby voice, saying things along the lines of:


"Look at your widdle bellyyyyyyyy. Look how you can stretch. Soooooooooo biiiiiiiiiiig. Oh! what's that?! Is dat a widdle bit of spittle?!"


High pitched.


Nasally.


Completely beyond my control.


I basically lose all sense of self to those chubby legs and chipmunk cheeks. Why? Because I'm totally fucking down with babies. We just get along. Until they decide they're over me and then I pretty much instantly become just as over them and it's actually kind of almost like an awkward breakup for me.


An awkward breakup where you're so instantly and overwhelmingly relieved that you met at the restaurant instead of driving together because sitting through a fifteen minute long car ride with this nimrod right now would be a fate worse than personally reliving 127 hours.


And that's how I know I'm not ready to be a mother!




I bring this up because I recently had an extremely awkward moment with a coworker regarding his impending spawn.


This coworker, we'll call him Mike because that's his name and I don't give a shittttttttt, is probably in his late twenties. Definitely the male in the office closest in age to myself. To say Mike and I aren't close would be a gross understatement. We basically don't even acknowledge each other at the office unless one of us (me) is about to run smack into the other one in the hallway. I daydream a lot, whatever.


It's not because we hate each other, either. We just don't come into contact... ever. We've both worked at the same place for over a year and we've never had a conversation longer than obligatory good mornings at the coffee pot. He never fucking makes a fresh pot when he takes the last of it, so maybe I do in fact have a negative vibe toward him. It doesn't matter. We probably couldn't even be classified as acquaintances. 


NOT EVEN ACQUAINTANCES. 


Practical strangers. 




Last week, good old Mikey Mike MATERIALIZES out of NOWHERE in front of my desk. Where I'm working, or at least pretending to be. 


Mike then thrusts a grainy ultrasound picture into my face and doesn't say a word. 


Um? 




I mean, am I supposed to say something? Because I'm a girl? Because it's the miracle of life? And you made it? Or did you find that on the ground and you're asking me what to do with it? 


Because you're a goddamn practical stranger and I have no idea what you're trying to pull, buddy. Showing up in front of me with a picture of a tadpole and no greeting or explanation. 




Cue crickets. 




"It's a boy baby." He finally uttered, finitely. 


"Uh? Congratulations." 


I felt so put-on-the-spot and taken aback at the same time. Probably like on Wheel of Fortune where the final contestant has to pick three consonants and a vowel that aren't RSTLN or E. And then they pick shit letters and get no assistance and don't solve the puzzle in the alloted ten seconds and WASTE THE CHANCE TO TAKE HOME A BOATLOAD OF CASH. 


Only there was no boatload of cash. Only a couple of awkward Sally's and a bad snapshot. 




I kind of felt inadequate as a woman, but really, what was I supposed to do? That picture probably meant a lot to him and he was probably prouder of that grainy little baking seed than he's ever been of anything in his entire life. I think that's awesome, Mike might make a decent dad after all. If he ever learns to be a team player and brew fresh coffee when he uses the last of it. 


But, it meant decidedly nothing to me. Nada. I'm not a mother. I'm not trying to be one for a long time coming, god willing and the creek don't rise. Maybe he pulled that same shit to every woman in the office because we're supposedly nurturers and we just love that stuff. It's just not me. And if he knew me AT ALL, he'd know that. 


But all Mike really did was show a stranger an indistinguishable blob and make things really uncomfortable. 


So, I guess- Kudos to you for the strong swimmers, Mikey, but I'll be actively avoiding you from this point on thanks to that little stunt. 


Happy Weekending, all!


Xo Sare