Baby Blues

Last week I went to see a colleague whose wife just delivered a baby boy at a hospital. As always, ever since I had the courage to hold a few-day old fragile infants in my sloppy hands, I tried to do the same.

The baby finally woke up. Yay! Then I got my chance to hold him. But as soon as my hands brought the little thing closer to my chest, funny, I didn't feel happily thrilled like before when I had a cute, little version of humankind with me. Instead, I felt terribly sorry for the baby for being born into this gloomy world.

"Hey kid, your days of sleeping peacefully are numbered!" I silently warned him.

Not having the heart to imagine such miserable life having in store for him, I returned the baby into the mother's arm as I told him in a telepathy way: "I'm sorry kid, I can't hold you and watch you grow in this world full of hearts being broken and people being used. Meet me when you're much much older and bitter and perhaps turned into a commitment phobic, then yea, maybe at that time I can finally have the guts to hold you close to me!"