Look at the mewling little bugger! All domed head, chubby cheeks and cute. The baby is quite sweet as well.
It's amazing the responses that holding a small child can produce. It can warm the cockles of the coldest heart, it can draw blood from a stone, it can make a grown man cry.
My holding this child ("owned" by my friend Clare - see previous Blog entry) produced a rather difference response - from the baby. About thirty seconds after this picture was taken it puked on my beloved hocky top. Now I don't know how many of you have encountered baby sick in your time, but it's smell and consistency has baffled the most learned scientists and scholars for hundreds of years. It's kind of like that ectoplasm that Bill Murray and co got slimed with in Ghostbusters, except that this stuff is greeny-white and smells like congealed Farleigh's Rusks.
Anyway - yeah, I think I would still like to be a Dad, but when I get emails from the baby's mum saying things like "I left him at the creche so that I could go to the gym for an hour and I very nearly had a panic attack because I missed him so much", it does give me pause.