Easy on the baby pics mum
HOW do you feel about being shown recent photos of a friend or family member’s baby? Do you a) relish the opportunity to marvel at the beauty of creation, the dimpled cheeks, the tiny starfish hands? Or do you b) lose the will to live?
Me? I love looking at baby pics but according to a YouGov poll 40 per cent of those who took part had no great desire to do so. Ten per cent said they disliked it and a similar number said they hated it. Men are less keen than women which is no surprise.
One thing that life has taught me is to be sparing in the number of times I inflict pictures of my fourmonth-old granddaughter on others, adorable though she is. I have an uncomfortable feeling that I wasn’t quite so discreet when her father – my first son – was born. There were no pictures on mobile phones in those days, nor mobile phones. But I kept a much-fingered collection of glossy prints about my person and was always ready to ambush the unwary.
If a puzzling lack of enthusiasm was shown then I pulled out another in the belief that an avalanche of images would convince my victim as to the unsurpassed beauty and dizzying intelligence of my firstborn.
On one of my first solo excursions into the outside world after his arrival, I met an acquaintance for lunch. Disoriented by the excitement of having combed hair and wearing normal clothes for the first time in months I’d barely sat down before I brought out the slightly sticky baby snaps.
“Do you want to see a picture?” I said, expecting the usual polite smile of acquiescence at the prospect of seeing this princely infant in his sailor suit (so very cute I thought). “No,” he said. “Not really.”
What!! I was stunned, hurt, annoyed, even (blame the hormones) outraged. Though with the benefit of hindsight and at a distance of more than 30 years (time is a healer) I think his response was honest if a little thoughtless.
But today we have too many photographs. A baby can be snapped on a phone 100 times a day, videoed as it does something amusing with a wet rusk and takes its first steps. The sight of a new mother whipping out a phone, saying “I’ll just show you one or two” is enough to send some fair-weather friends running for the hills.
At least I still have the photos I carried around in my handbag, firmly stuck in an album. But I can’t keep track of all the digital images and one day I worry that they’ll be deleted by mistake.
In the meantime I can take a peek at darling little Nina whenever I want and people think I’m checking my emails. But I’ve learnt not to assume that anyone else is as interested in her as I am. Their loss of course…