Spaniels arses

She is quite eye catching.

Now, I’m fully aware that to the outside world she might just as easily have a face like a hole dug in a muddy field, but taking the unshakable prerogative that exists for fathers of daughters I’m forging forward with my declaration of beauty.

It should be noted that I place little or no importance on the physical appearance or ability of babies. I already hear too many creepy comments alluding to the later life prospects of humans who are barely a few months old, it’s unnerving, unsettling, and utterly pointless.
Unless of course you find one in nappies with a killer backhand, a 400 yard drive, or the ability to trap dead a 50 yard pass with their left foot, then all bets are off and you should rush to fill their heads with all sorts of praise and nonsense in order to cement and secure your own future fortunes.

Digressions and caveats appropriately dealt with, what inspires my opening proclamation?

First and foremost it’s hair. The child was born with a considerable mop of the stuff. Now, almost a year on, her face is framed by the most remarkable flowing locks. Black, brown, golden, and even red waves of thick hair down to her shoulders that would strike jealously even into the heart of a Mother Theresa and Gandhi lovechild who’d been given up for adoption and raised by Nelson Mandela.

So yes, in my opinion, kind of cute.

Regardless, all this posturing and tangent surfing is quite irrelevant when my aim is to highlight the downside to all this. When you toss the coin of beauty and cuteness, it will inevitably, on occasion, land the side up that you hadn’t called.

There is always a price to pay.

A price to pay for a pretty animated creature with flowing locks. There is no free lunch, or rather, no lunch free from what has become the bedevilment of my days; spoon feeding a shaky-headed, long haired baby.

The elation of having your offspring eagerly gobble up a few spoonfuls of liquidised kidney beans becomes somewhat muted when, with a swish of her head, the dish of the day attaches itself to her flowing mane. 6 spoons later and baby is sporting carrot moistened ringlets making her look like a demented cross between Shirley Temple and an Hasidic Jew.

Quick action is of the utmost importance, failing to wet wipe dinner from your child’s follicles before the main course hardens will leave you facing a baby with hair as matted and tangled as a Cocker Spaniel’s arse after a morning in the woods.

So you see, baby beauty isn’t all it’s hyped up to be. There are pitfalls, slippery slopes, and bangs welded to cheeks with green beans to contend with.

Beauty is very much in the eye of the knot-comb holder.

7th February, 2011.