In a month or two I’m attending one of those “how to be a parent” classes so I can help take care of my niece-to-be.  The class I’m taking pertains to diapers, proper holding, stuff like that.  I really wanted to take the class before that one, but I was informed that it would be silly for me to learn about breast feeding.  (I had misheard the topic; I thought it was about “kneading.")

I’m particularly anxious to learn about the proper holding of the baby.  Working at an office where there’s a least two pregnant women 365 days a year, I’m often asked by proud mothers if I want to hold their baby.  Now, when faced with a delicate social request such as this one, I know exactly what to do.  I scream “OH!  OH!  I APPEAR TO HAVE RUPTURED A SPLEEN.” Then I drop the floor and thrash around.  By the time I open my eyes, everyone’s gone.  Problem solved.

You might wonder why I have such a fear of holding a baby.  It’s just that I know you’re supposed to hold a baby in a special way, and to me there’s only one “special hold” I know--a bowling ball.  I remember being around five and being taught to stick my fingers in the two small holes and my thumb in the large one.  What’s that, you say?  A baby is nothing like a bowling ball?  Look closer.  They have two nostrils.  And a mouth.

So I’m always afraid that a beaming mother will hand over her baby, and I’ll instantly react in “special hold” mode, and I’ll scoop the baby into the air using my right hand: “Now I get to keep her for a few turns, right?  Because I need to warm up and practice.  For some reason, my first throw is always a gutterbaby.”