Once you start nearing thirty-years-old, it starts happening. Baby fever for way too many of your friends, while you’re sitting back, going to happy hour, staying up late, and indulging in just you. Honestly, sounds a lot better than the alternative: screaming babies at all hours of the night, breastfeeding (like seriously, who wants to do that), and making your whole world about ten pounds of neediness who 1. can’t even talk and tell you what’s wrong, and 2. is a little selfish and high maintenance, if we’re being honest. Some of my closest friends take an hour to do their makeup every day, and they’re still lower maintenance and more self-aware than the screaming babies we see (and hear) all the time.
But I digress. What’s most important is that it is the holidays! Because this year, we won’t be celebrating in groups, I want to tell you about my truest and most honest feelings about the years prior to 2020, when these little babies would show up to my parties, unannounced. The audacity.
I am thinking about last year in particular. I had a huge holiday party. The best food and drinks, my closest friends (and about forty others), fun decorations, and obviously the best classic Christmas hits blasting on my speaker. My drunken striptease to “Santa Baby” is forever etched in my guests’ hearts, and that’s how I like it. However, in all the debauchery and fun, I didn’t realize that my “friend” Elsa showed up with her husband and her baby.
I was flabbergasted, but also feeling sensitive and passive-aggressive, (because of the boozy punch), so I violently grabbed my friend Rachel and whispered, “What the hell is he doing here?” about little Oliver. Yeah, he’s adorable and all, but he is absolutely not welcome at my very, very adult holiday party. I mean, we hadn’t even gotten to the part where we do the Wobble dance!
Rachel tells me to calm down, that it isn’t a big deal. But honestly? I’m never forgetting this. This is unforgivable. This is outrageous. Babies must be stopped. Yeah, they seem all innocent, but I’m positive Oliver is manipulative, crying and screaming until Elsa decides to bring him along. Elsa, if you can hear this, you’re on my list. You too, Oliver.
