I've reached that point in my life when most of my friends are having babies. In fact, the ones who don't (myself included) are made to feel like social reject freaks. This is particularly apparent at children's parties, where self satisfied parents make love eyes at their progeny whilst sporting the latest in bugaboo chic.
Anyway, this weekend I went to visit my relative (40's), her baby (15 months), her boyfriend (20's and looks like something out of MAD comic with B.O.) and their new house (you know, victorian terrace with knocked through rooms and a big social kitchen - they might as well be media wanker cunts, but in fact they don't really work too much and are spending an inheritance). I get there, and the child, who is walking about in hard soled shoes and has 16 teeth, is being breast fed. Now babies I don't mind being fed in this way, but this girl eats sausages! Obviously, I don't pass any comment on the use of the breast as comfort. I mean, who am I to comment - I am yet to bear any of these creatures. And I know that in other cultures children are breast fed for a long long time, but I am just disturbed by the sight. The child is kind of distracted anyway, and keeps looking round at me. Is she saying 'Look what I've got' with her glances? Or is it more like 'What else is happening?'. Perhaps she's saying 'Do you like my soil covered toes? And what about the attractive mango slime all over my dungarees?'
It gets worse when Alfred E. Newman alike boyfriend comes in, sees child on breast and says 'Are you having some bosom? Can Dada have some?' and proceeds to make slurping noises as he moves towards the scary nipple. If he wants to do that shit, can't he wait till I've gone? Please?
I think of my friend M, whose baby (2) is so clean and tidy, and asks to clean her hands. This child is not nurtured at the breast (my relation intends to feed hers till she's 2). She sits at her high chair and is 'reasoned with' (bribed), and consequently is a perfect doll. Yes, she might be a bit repressed, but I'd far rather that than the mango smeared, toes in earth breast chomper.
Welcome to my first posting by the way! It won't always be about babies, I promise. But I do intend to provide some almost fascistic guidelines on how to live with a bit of Edwardian lady in you. It may be the only hope we have for surviving the trashiness that is postmodern London, innit.
So to conclude tonights rant: Ladies. Don't be smug. Repress your children. Make them uptight and clean. Make them independent unclingy cold people. And don't feed your husband in public.
Goodnight.
