Rob hadn’t had a lot to do with screaming children. Any time he heard a child cry in the street he just walked away; he found the noise needlessly excessive, which is understandable for someone whose only connection with children was being one himself. Somehow Rob ended up on a date with a single mother. It was surprising that he’d even ended up in the situation so when she asked him back to her house he’d almost fallen off his chair; ‘hadn’t she noticed his apathy towards her talk of motherhood?’ The following morning Rob awoke to the find a small child in a bassinet at the foot of the bed. The child started screaming as soon as he peered at it over the sheets. “Can you please grab him?” the mother yelled from the bathroom; she was obviously occupied. Rob wasn’t exactly qualified for handling babies but what other option was there; ‘could he just put up with the incessant screaming?’ He picked the child up from the capsule and held it awkwardly; the child’s outburst immediately ceased. Rob was perplexed; he hadn’t feed it, hadn’t changed it, he hadn’t even said hello. He mused on the unexpected calm; a child could be upset by absolutely anything: t-shit that’s crooked, socks with aging elastic, rug that’s slightly abrasive; pureed fruit that’s too sweet, rockmelon that has a soapy texture, milk that leads to slight diarrhoea; a Disney plot that’s too boring, a radio station that’s repetitive, strangers that stare inches from the face. ‘They really should cry a lot more,’ concluded Rob.