Broken limbs and other injuries.
I just got off the metro, having watched a super sweet papi, politely (but nervously) engaging with a batty old woman. The batty old woman had nudged me, to alert me the presence of a baby in a buggy, presumably to notice it’s cuteness. Said baby was cute, undoubtedly, but I am not really one given to billing and cooing – unless the baby has four paws and fur.
So, having nudged me, established eye-contact with the bairn and buoyed by a swift exchange with dad; she felt it appropriate to lunge in and grab baby’s face.
Now, mama Pank, having found herself in this compromising position (that being offspring in imminent danger), would have let out an earth shattering roar – in manner of lioness, employed claws – in manner of Wolverine……. and mauled the woman to pieces. In manner of the bear from The Revenant.
With that in mind, and given people’s annoying propensity to touch babies and toddlers, imagine the carnage here in Barcelona. The path to nursery would be littered with arms and legs, there’d be entrails strewn around the place, and the carcasses of kindly passers-by, tossed aside like the bones from a Henry VIII feast.
The health and safety of people who love the little ones of strangers, enough to stick their germy, dirty, bacteria-riddled hands all over them without asking permission from the parent, is my ‘reasons why I don’t have kids’ #49