The other night, browsing Not On The High Street, I came across
this. An angel babygrow, with little wings on the back;
"I'm a baby angel" printed on the front.
Awww. Adorable. Cute; you may say.
But not to me. It made my stomach lurch as soon as I saw it. Made me audibly say 'Ugh', made me panic a little on the inside, my heart pound a little harder. Made me want to cry.
While some parents get to play on the 'Awww. Adorable. Cute' factor of dressing their children up like angels, the representation of a baby dressed as an angel is all a bit much for me, because the representation is our reality.
Once upon a time I might've been in the 'Awww. Adorable. Cute.' camp. Not now. Not when my daughter is actually a baby angel.
I hate it when people refer to their living babies as their 'little angel'. I hate it when people label Xander an 'angel' or call him 'angel'. He clearly isn't. It makes me very uncomfortable when the representation of a baby angel is his sister. His dead sister.
We called her our Angel Belle while she was still alive. Thinking it was cute. Our pet name for her. She died. It came true. Maybe our sub-conscience always knew.
The babygrow made me feel sick. Maybe it feels like parents, dressing their little babies as little angels are unwittingly playing with fire. Maybe like we were. We got burned.
My baby girl, my baby angel.
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