Lady Adventure

Babies: They're Not Rocket Surgery

Uncle/Niece Bonding Moment

Babies. They're scary: what with their bendy limbs, googly eyes, floppy torsos -  and that soft spot. Of course, if you're like me and have had a plethora of babies pass through your hands (eldest of nine, aunt to eight), you tend to be a bit more blasé about the whole thing and have a sure grip of the little monsters, even if they're trying to escape your clutches and dive headfirst towards the floor. My husband, on the other hand, has always tended to view babies with something akin to fear - they're his kryptonite. Up until three years ago, he'd never held a baby. Whenever he visited our home in Ireland, he was offered a cup of tea, a biscuit and, as a special favour, a "go" of whatever baby was currently being passed around. We thought we were giving him a treat: the chance to snuggle whatever newborn was being handed from aunt to uncle (and, even more of a treat, handing the baby back to the parents at the first sign of crankiness or whiff of malodorous activity in the diaper department), but he shied away from it. Three years ago, he was handed my baby niece, and he held her, awkward and sweating, till she was passed on to my little sister. He was not impressed by the experience.

"It's not rocket surgery," I pointed out. (That's our favourite phrase at the moment - I can't open a jar of beetroot? Well, my husband says, it's not rocket surgery! Nothing like a bit of metaphorical mangling.) Babies are deceptively robust, I said. As long as you don't drop them, they're generally pretty easy to hold. He was sceptical. The thing is, though, my sister-in-law has just had her first baby and Mr Gingerbread is now a proper uncle, as opposed to an uncle-by-marriage, and there's no longer any chance of avoiding his call of duty. So last weekend we travelled down to the south of Bavaria, to inspect the newest member of my husband's family.

Once there, Mr G. manfully stepped up and took the child. He even held her for half an hour, albeit as one would hold a plank of wood or a toaster. But she appeared comfortable and didn't even squeak. He, on the other hand, looked about as relaxed as a tightrope walker, but they both got through it without any residual trauma.
"See?" I said, "Not rocket surgery! Any fool can hold a baby."
"You're right," he replied solemnly. "I guess you've hit the nail on the hammer."