Homebody Becomes Nasty

I have a secret.

I hate children.

Not my sisters’ or brother’s babies. Although they were super annoying until they hit puberty. My way of dealing with them was to tease them SO mercilessly that when the time came for my siblings to appoint me as baby sitter, their kids would scream and go lock themselves up in the room all the while sobbing hysterically. Not her! Not her! they would plead. Suckers.

Therefore, pretty early on, as youngest Khala of nine brats, I figured out this ingenious way to excuse myself from nanny duties and ward off all infant terribles. Tis an achievement I’m proud of.

But, for the most part, I can’t stand other people’s children. I get a little seizure in my head when parents dote over their babies and expect me to do the same. Case in point:

Mum: OOO look! Khala is here!

Baby: looks like androgynous wheat sack in trousers.

Homebody Khala: (in the awkward position of having to show some kind of appreciation so as not to offend hormonal mum): Hello there little girl! (Pat, pat gingerly on bald head while thinking of the term ‘egg head’)

Baby: (Infantile censors of evil-diabolical torture have locked on to this humanoid who clearly detests me) Godi!

Mum: Oh how unusual! She never wants to go to any one else’s godi! You’re special!

Homebody: (muttering) I’m cursed that’s what I am. (takes baby in arms. Obligatory cooing noises while secretly wishing it comes down with a rash and does the world a social service by not leaving its house for at least a week.)

Baby: (NOW I’ve got her!) WAAAH! POOP! BARF!

Mum: Aw! Look! She’s so comfortable with you.

Homebody: TAKE THE DAMN THING OFF ME!

Mum: (takes baby back and looks hurt) She’s just a child.

Homebody: (hyperventilating) IT’S THE SPAWN OF THE DEVIL.

Mum stalks off, offended that I have insulted her spouse’s sperm.

Babies, until they reach the charming age of 18, are fat, dribbling, sniveling, spoilt, noisy twits with obese cheeks which wobble when they smile, like jelly fresh out of the mould. Their beady eyes stare, taunting you with a ‘If you don’t tell me I’m cute my mommy’s going to hit you and I know this very well so I am going to make all kinds of retarded faces and you had better go awwww or else.’ And then they have this unnerving habit of staring at you that is just creepy. Then all of a sudden they’ll go and do something annoying, like put their foot in a commode and stare at you triumphantly, or tear your Master’s thesis which is the only evidence you have that you were once smart. Or they will hit you. They ALL hit you. And you clench your fists and sit tight, telling yourself it’s not polite to hit a two year old back.

If you think I’m being nasty and insensitive, let me end by telling you that I detest children because I used to be one. Seriously. True story. I was a disaster! A veritable nightmare! People STILL hate me because I pulled their hair and gouged their eyes out while Ammi and Abu went How Shweet! I have had to apologize to every single one of my relatives and say: ‘My brain was developing in fits and starts, you see and my parents were forty years old and just very, very tired. No, don’t duck. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.’

I suppose I attract little monsters because of the law of karma. Oh well, so be it.