So I met a boy on Saturday. I’m not going to lie, he’s not the first boy I’ve immediately fallen in love with, but he certainly is the youngest. Just over a week ago my brother’s partner was delivered of a beautiful baby boy – their first child, my first nephew.
Heart = melted.
It’s amazing and yet so obvious how much we’re programmed to like babies, especially ones that we are related to by strong blood ties. I’ve never been fond of little children, actively dislike them in fact, and in no way do I ever want any of my own. But I was perfectly content to hold that sleeping little infant in my arms for hours. And the frustration when he cried and I couldn’t immediately give him what he wanted was astonishing. A baby crying is one of the few things that can bypass our higher cognitive functions and go straight for the small furry animal part of our brains. (Presumably the growl of something big and toothy is the other.)
So evolution doesn’t really give me a choice in the matter, but I wouldn’t want one. He is my kin, blood of my blood, and certainly while ever he is a helpless little bundle of cute I’d shed blood to protect him.
This may have worn off by the time he is old enough to be screaming and throwing cereal across the room, but somehow I doubt it…