I am head-over-heels in love with fat babies.
I am mostly in love with their cheeks. I am also in love with their rolls of fat, and their chubby fists.
This deep love/obsession is so strong that when I am in a baby-populated area, I forget who I’m with and what they’re saying because I am checking out every stroller. It’s to the extent that I get super aggravated when my boyfriend and I are out on a walk, or shopping, or at the library, and I say, “OH MY GOSH, DID YOU SEE THAT BABY?” and he responds with “What baby?”
He says this after we’ve basically brushed shoulders with a baby. And then I give him my upset face, with the furrowed eyebrows and the scoffing mouth. And he looks as innocent as a baby himself. “What?!” he says.
If you’re a woman, you understand. “What baby?” is the wrong answer.
The above baby, Evelyn, is half Irish. She comes to church, and I orbit around her in a completely infatuated manner. (Her poor, patient parents.) So does my sweet, baby-obsessed mother, except she is actually helpful in her obsession and holds Evelyn at church functions and babysits for her at our house from time to time. I tried to hold Evelyn at the picnic where she’s pictured above while her dad was eating his fried chicken, but she squirmed away. So I gave her my purse strap to suck on. This was totally wonderful, as I felt super honored that she loved my purse. I think we bonded over our love of aqua-colored hobo bags. (Or maybe just the way leather makes a lovely teething substance.)
Sometime in my awkward, nerdy past when my cousins and I let our strange imaginations make us do strange things, we rated babies on their fatness. The semi-fat ones were called “Chubs.” Then there were “Chub Chubs,” and the biggest were “Chubbers” (I think… Hailey and Jillie, correct me if my memory of the fatness scale is off.) The way the scale worked was that anytime we were in public, we’d alert each other as to the location of Chubs, Chub Chubs, and Chubbers, and subsequently fawn over them and make a huge deal so that the parents of said babies probably thought we were the most annoying pre-teens ever.
We didn’t care, of course. When you love babies, you love babies!
Anyhow, as you can tell, I still fawn over babies.
Tonight while I was working at the pool, I saw a Double Chubber with the biggest, saddest eyes and the biggest, droopiest cheeks. He was like heaven, sitting on a picnic table while his parents ate dinner. I almost ran away with him. Why didn’t I risk being called a total creep and snap his picture with my iPhone so you could SEE him?!
Also, there is this baby at the club whose parents dress her in flowered headbands. She looks like a monkey. She is a Chub Chub. (These titles sound like the name of sandwiches, don’t they?….) She has monkey ears. It’s the most precious thing. Once while I was serving her parents dinner on the patio, her dad fed her cheerios in her high chair and she dropped them all happily on the ground. Every few minutes she turned around and grinned at me. It was all I could do not to drool and run over and unbuckle her and stuff her in my purse.
Hmm… this post wasn’t supposed to be about babies. I think I was going to write about my internship, and being a costumed-character guide for an afternoon, and then tie in childlike faith. I wanted to mention a dear sweet little girl who loved Jesus a lot. I had it all planned out in my head – shoot. Next time.
It’s just that I was looking for pictures of children on my iPhone, and saw Evelyn, and totally had to STOP EVERYTHING and coo and remember how much I love her.
So this blog became a baby blog.
Well. That happens sometimes.