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Now I know the normal dodges, of pretending to be busy, dirty or slightly sick so you don't have to hold a baby (if you clench your diaphragm while fake-coughing, the ensuing noise will make the more hyper-protective parents will recoil in horror at the idea of you touching their larva). But new parents all have this stupid happy naive demeanor that makes you feel like you're kicking a puppy, and disabusing them of their offspring's specialness is just about impossible.

Today, a coworker I don't even particularly like (and find hard to respect after a self-pitying break-up letter he composed at his desk found its way onto a shared hard drive), who is as close to a workplace enemy as an amiable fellow like myself could possess, wandered in with his new baby. I was in the middle of work (though it didn't look like it, because I was trying to pry apart my static-clinging shirt and undershirt), when he came in and asked if I wanted to see "the little munchkin". He was holding a blanketed bundle, so of course, I evinced polite interest and got up to look...only to realize he was carrying ONLY the blanket*, and informed me that the actual baby was in the next office, where a crowd was oggling it. So there was nothing for it but to dutifully trudge over and peer at the baby, which looks EXACTLY like every other non-black baby in the history of the universe, except without a vague resemblance to any other person with whom I have developed a genuine relationship.

*I suppose that must be divine retribution for doing much the same thing with my godson's bundle of clothing at his baptism, in the church, making my mother think I had dropped her grandson in the pew.

So not only am I pulled away from my work for a longer period, but leaving is also made far more awkward, since I would have to actively walk out on the group recitation of "Wow, a baby, it's so blah, blah, blah." Fortunately work issues intervened and I had to faux-reluctantly disengage to attend to them and then not go back. And the parents really seemed to genuinely believe everyone wanted to see their kid. They even called up one coworker who was not in the building at the moment, so he could come back to see the baby. He's a father of two kids of his own, I should point out, so it's not like there is some extraordinary novelty here.

And that's the thing with me. I am not heartless or immune to the appeal of cuteness, but I have six younger siblings, I was 7 years old when the oldest of my seven first cousins was born, and then there are my 5 neices and 6 nephews. Three of whom were born in the last half of 2012. I have had more than enough exposure to babies over the last three or so decades. Anyone with more exposure than me, has either inseminated or gestated their own, or else is professionally involved with the concept, and in either case, has a motivation for interest in the same.

Years ago, when I was a kid, I was doing something when I overheard my mother having a phone conversation about a curious (to her) trend she had observed, namely that the elder children of large families tend not to have many kids themselves. I gave her a dumbfounded stare, and when she got off the phone and asked if I thought that confusing as well, I said that I absolutely did not, and my reaction was surprise that SHE was surprised. As the eldest child of a moderate-sized family, I could see why large families would lack an appeal for people in a more extreme situation than mine. My mother's only the eldest of three, and too close in age to have babysat or changed any sibling diapers.

I, on the other hand, was always on call for such duties. I learned to change diapers when I was young enough to wonder when my sister's penis was going to grow or emerge or whatever happened. I have babysat, I have fed, changed, rocked, burped and bathed babies. I am among my brothers' kids' favorite pool toys, and I toss them in the air and flip them upside down as their fathers' slight statures or ailing backs do not permit. My Christmas and birthday presents are among the more popular. I am a pretty damn good uncle, if I say so myself. But it's not like they are the most fascinating people in the world, or I have ever labored under the delusion that my affection for them is based on some sort of objective standard of excellence, rather than familial ties.

Why then, is failing to exhibit similar excitement towards the offspring of virtual strangers, treated worse than profanity in church (literally, in the case of my coworkers, most of whom I could not imagine refraining from profanity in church)? And it can't be due to the differences in being an uncle/brother/cousin and a parent, since my single brothers and sisters are almost as obnoxious as new parents. They have the kids' pictures as wallpaper and backgrounds on their phones and stuff. I carry zero pictures of the kids. Why? Because 1. I know what they look like, 2. no one else cares what they look like, and 3. they are at the point of their lives where they change so fast that the pictures rapidly become obsolete, rending it pointless to try to maintain an up-to-date portfolio of peripheral kinfolk. Not to mention, why tip off an enemy that they might be important to you?

Babies are babies. We live on a planet populated by six billion former babies. They are hardly all that extraordinary a phenomenon, nor are they very impressive as accomplishments. At the larval, or "baby" stage of development, they are mostly the by-product of involuntary biological processes, and the voluntary portion of their engenderment is hardly onerous on the part of the parents, so it's not like they are in a position to claim much credit. Showing off a baby is like framing a kindergarten diploma. In both cases, it's all very nice, but please. Talk to me when you've moved that along to something significant.

But just TRY and explain this position to anyone in person, or when an actual baby is present...