Oh Baby, Baby!

I have nothing against infants. My pet philosophy of “Live and Let Live” fits in perfectly where these puking, gurgling blobs are concerned.
That being said, I do take umbrage when these little critters are treated like circus animals. Pride in your progeny is one thing, but I think parents should give filial pride a chance -- even if not filial piety -- not to mention allowing the yet-uncoordinated objects of their affection a fighting chance at self-respect.
My objection is not really to what the kids or their saintly parents go through – that’s their business. What gets my goat every time is when the charade plays out in my presence, or Heaven forbid, in my honor.
I was put through just such an ordeal a few days ago, when I called a friend to wish him on his birthday. Now this friend and I go way back (primary school), and while I dutifully attended his wedding, I have not had occasion to set eyes on him (or his better half) since that fateful day 4 years ago. And while I congratulated him on his virility in achieving fatherhood three-and-a-half years later, I have never been gripped by either the curiosity or the need to make the acquaintance of the scion of that family. Truth be told, I actually do not remember the kid's name; nor his mother’s, for that matter.
So imagine my chagrin when after the initial pleasantries were done with, and I was looking for an opening to hang-up and get on with my day, the father uttered the words that sent a chill up my spine: “Hold on man, Dippy wants to say hello!”
The chills held off for a bit, as my mind tried to decipher this ominous uttering. Was “Dippy” what he called his wife? And if indeed it was, why would he introduce me to her under the aegis of such a goofy name? The name her parents bestowed on her would surely have done just fine – it would also have nudged me into recalling her name; I am pretty sure it would transverse all lines of propriety to address her as “Dippy”, not to mention that the name itself was quite stupid and downright nauseating.
Now I have no objection to said female, but why he thought I would like to talk to her when my sole objective in connecting with him was to wish him on his birthday, I could not fathom. But good upbringing forbade me to decline his invitation, so with forced gaiety, I braced myself for the ordeal.
The verbal babble that accosted my ear in the seconds that followed the transfer threw me.
“Goo bwalllle aaa eeeeennnnhhhh sutg gsa…”
It took me a second to realize that the jabber I was hearing was nothing any adult could claim to understand.
It then dawned on me: Dippy, was what they called their heir!
And over this babble, I heard my pal’s voice saying, “Say Hello uncle, how are you??”
He repeated this directive three more times, and every time, the little brat continued to dish out a series of spluttering noises that in no way even remotely resembled the coherence the patriarch had achieved.
I was out of my depth, but I can honestly say with pride that I put up a valiant front, responding to the noises emanating from my telephone with a gutsy “Hello!!! How you doing, little fellow? Are you troubling your parents yet???”
That was about all I could take. I had barely resolved to hang up and blame it on poor connectivity when the dad came back on line.
“See, he’s so smart!!! He actually talks on the phone.”
The pride there, though completely misplaced, was touching. I agreed with him, and as I hung up with promises to catch up soon, there was just one thought running through my mind: Love is not just as blind as a bat, it also gives an adder a run for its money on the deafness scale.