Monday, November 29, 2010

I Love You so Much I wanna Bash You


Dad and the C-Bunny have bought a kitten.  His name is Claude Monet.  He is the most painfully cute thing I have ever seen.  The kind that makes you feel guilty for masturbating.


 














When I skype with dad and he gets Claude Monet on his lap and waves his furry little arms at the camera that are wearing grey sockettes on them I am glad we’re half a planet away because if I was near Claude Monet I fear I would scratch him or throw him or throttle him - he’s just that infuriatingly cute.

Have you ever had that feeling?  The cuteness just being so overwhelming it makes you want to GRRRRRR hurt something?  That wild, fist-clenching desire to roar, to deface, to destroy – like when you’re standing in a gallery looking at an incredible artwork and feel the urge to pick up a pole and start tearing into it.

Perhaps it’s just me.

A friend had twins a while back and bought them in all their precious prematurity to Bunny Sister’s birthday drinks at the Deco Bar and I remember the little girl one being placed in my lap.  She was the tiniest, most perfect thing I had ever seen.  A porcelain doll.  And I was terrified, mortified by the tourettes-like urges flashing through my mind:

I open my legs and SPLAT – she falls to the floor

I quickly WHOOSH my hands upwards from underneath her miniature body and OOP – SPLAT – she is pancaked to the roof

I can’t control my hands and scratch her face off

My hands are so strong I crush her body

Awful, terrifying images like this, and way, way worse.  Just terrible.  People clinked glasses and laughed and talked and here I sat amongst them, nervous smile plastered across my face, a murderer, a child-killer.  It was an awful, awful feeling and luckily I happened to be sitting next to a very wise also-recent mother to whom I could relay my fears and who refused to take the child away from my dangerous arms, saying ‘It’s normal, don’t worry, you just have to get through it.  Just breathe.  I know the feeling.  You’ll be ok.’  And I breathed and it did go away, though I still felt horrified at myself after, until I drank enough cocktails to forget about it.

When I relayed the story to Bunny Sister she nodded solemnly at me with wide eyes – she knew the feeling of finding something so cute she wanted to bash it. 

Bunny Sister and Baby Brother in the Car 
A Story in Point Form

·      Bunny Sister is four.  Baby Brother is a Baby
·      Mum parks the car, looks in the back seat
·      Bunny Sister is sitting, legs neatly crossed, looking out the window with signature pursed lips and delicately placed hands
·      Baby Brother is cooing gently in his baby seat
·      Mum sprints out to shop and buys milk
·      Mum returns to car forty-five seconds later
·      Mum checks back-seat
·      Bunny Sister is sitting, legs neatly crossed, looking out the window with signature pursed lips and delicately placed hands
·      Baby Brother is cooing gently in his baby seat, face covered in bloody scratches.  

Even now, Bunny Sister remembers exactly why she did it, exactly the feeling, exactly the compulsion.  He was TOO CUTE.  Arrrgh, she says, curling her hands up into claws and roaring, ‘I was just TOO MUCH.  I couldn’t STAND it.’  It seemed almost to be her way of getting closer to him.

I don’t even like domestic animals that much, but when dad sends me pictures of Claude Monet, I feel similar sensations described by Bunny Sister, I just NEED to ARRRGHHH grab him and GRRRR squeeze him sooooo tight. 

I must say, the destructive potential of the power of over-cuteness disturbs me slightly, particularly in light of impending motherhood.  But I comfort myself in the knowledge that this kind of adoration is generally reserved to the outsider, the admirer, the slightly removed.  You can't find your own child that cute, surely.  And anyway, as the mother sitting next to me that day with the twins calmly advised, those overwhelming sensations do lose power with time.  The teledex of horrific scenarios finally did run out that day and I could calmly look at the little thing, and even connect with her.

I suppose you just have to live these feelings through.  And don’t leave siblings alone in a car together, even for thirty seconds. 

And if you have an insanely, ridiculously, unbearably cute kitten, better make sure you live several continents away, and skype regularly before closing the gap.

2 comments:

  1. When Meg was a baby I desperately wanted to slice off her toes and eat them.

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  2. when i saw that photo of her grinning on the couch dwarfed by the enormous guitar i wanted to extend my jaws like a snake and ingest her whole

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