"The magnitude of a taboo should not be measured by the subject sensitivity, but by the nature of person or social class whose views and opinions you are questioning." La Rouge (2009)
And herein lies the hitch. I'm potentially ruffling the feathers of that oh-so-firey breed; the new mum. Young, old, fat, thin, black, white or purple, the new mother - it seems - wants to share everything their newborn bumpkin has done to date. And what can your average Pierre say to said parent? Any hint you may not want to hear about the exploits of junior will surely be interpreted as "It's wrong to love your baby. Don't love your baby so much. Stop coming over and talking about how much you love your baby". Do you want them to hear that? Because that's what they'll hear.
Children are wonderful little blighters, You've Been Framed has taught me that, but what most new parents fail to realise is the reason their children are so fantastic is because they are precisely that; their children. They're not mine (no matter what the Jeremy Kyle Parentometer Test said), so when young mummy and daddy care that their nipper licked a stick in a hilarious manner, tottered after a puppy in the park, or woke up pulling a face like Ray Winstone, it's fair to say I don't. I'm not heartless, I just don't care.
My advice to any adults who may have just ventured into the alien world of parenthood is to consider this; what did you talk about before Zeus/Orange/Princess Toshiba was born? There must have been conversation before babies? Yes. Of course there was. Now let's not stop loving our offspring, but for the sake of Pierre, let's stop talking about them all the time.
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