By Helen Walne
Once upon a time, having children was a natural process. Neanderthal women would waddle into the forest, squat in the shade, push and holler and perhaps chew on some weeds, and eventually the baby would slither out on to the forest floor, all big-foreheaded and looking somewhat like Willem Dafoe.
Then, after gnawing on the umbilical cord, the Neanderthal mama would wrap the newborn in a pelt or a pine cone, clamp the little blighter to her left breast and head back to the cave for some light hair-dragging and a spot of berry-sorting. All in a day's work.
Nowadays, babies are an industry. From the Caesar-loving doctor who likes to schedule his deliveries between rounds of golf and Rotary lunches, to baby expos that try to flog China's entire phthalate supply to wide-eyed mothers, babies are big business.
First, let me point out that I am not anti babies. Yes, they're mucous-infested parasites for the first two years of their lives, and yes, they grow into acne-ravaged teens whose idea of a family lunch involves a KFC drumstick in one hand and MXit in the other, but who can't resist those weird gurgles babies make when they're in the bath or the glazed look on their faces when they're servicing their nappies? Nay, it's not the babies that concern me, it's the marketing types that circle them like silver-eyed ravens. And the parents.
Just last week, Stella McCartney, fashion designer and chinless daughter of that least original Beatle, launched her latest clothing range: leopard-print knits, velvet blazers, tulle skirts, cashmere and silk sweaters. For babies.
I'm a grown-up with a tax number and I don't own any cashmere.
Also last week, Hello magazine - that British pamphlet featuring horses, cravats, ladies with bobs, and double-barrelled weddings - reported that Suri Cruise, daughter of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, has a wardrobe worth R22 million. Yip, roll that around in your mouth and try and get a handle on it: t-w-e-n-t-y t-w-o m-i-l-l-i-o-n. She apparently owns 100 pairs of shoes (including numerous high heels) and even has her own fashion blog. She is three.
I have two pairs of Mr Price sandals and a pair of All Stars. I don't own heels and I don't know how to blog. I am 38.
Plumb even more treacherous waters on the web and you will find a plethora of sites flogging more designer gear for kids: Armani Junior, Dolce Gabbana, Prada, Nike.
My friend Judy has a sensible wardrobe and a hearty disdain for anything incorporating the word "lifestyle". She is also pregnant with her first child.
"What am I going to do?" she wailed on a recent hike (she also doesn't believe in that wonderful gift of maternity - sitting at home with your feet up and stuffing your face with Swiss roll). Her colleagues had arranged a baby shower for her, bestowing upon her bump enough stuff to start a small branch of Naartjie.
"I don't want stuff," she wailed again. "I don't need a special sling or 15 Babygros or 23 receiving blankets." She chewed on her lip. "And what the hell is a receiving blanket anyway?"
By nature, babies grow - which is a good thing, because if they didn't we'd end up in a world full of Danny de Vitos. And right now, it is the nature of Earth to crisp and curl at the edges as we overload her with our factories and our fumes, our cars and our cow farts.
However, when it comes to playing dress-up, stupid parents don't seem able to put these two facts together. Even with my lower grade maths, I can work out that a pair of Nike trainers will fit a 12-month-old baby for about two months. At R565 a pair, this works out at R9.40 a day. And the baby can't even walk yet.
In a world where many people don't have a cent for food, this Baby Gap gluttony seems criminal. And in a world where the natural balance has been bumped out of whack, this sort of wastefulness should be outlawed, punishable by a light stoning or a strong hanging (depending on cost of baby stilettos/baby neckerchief/baby bustier/baby waistcoat).
"So what am I going to do with all the stuff?" Judy asks, eyeing a particularly broad arum leaf in the forest.
Turns out she is going to donate most of it to a children's hospital. In the meantime, she is learning to fashion some unusual bibs and babygros out of weeds and leaves. Well, not really. But wouldn't that be worthy of a mention on Suri's blog?