Oh that’s right, a wriggly pink thing came out a lady. Again. It’s hardly as if we weren’t warned. I think you’ll find that it tends to be the thing that happens after an acceptably lengthy period of pregnancy. You might even have experienced such an occurrence over the course of your own life (which is one of the many reasons why I really cannot see what all the fuss is about).
Anyway, after such fevered period of tense waiting and mass hysteria (the new people’s princess! It’s about time we had another one. The last one was just a fluke, we’ll definitely take more care with this one), I don’t know about you but I’m rather fatigued.
If I see another headline relating to this tiny scrap of humanity (please spare me your princess and the pea related puns, your exclamations of delight that another child I’m not particularly fussed about has a female sibling and at the very least you could have opted for a little originality. Was Sleeping Cutie your first idea or your second) I may well take to my bed for no less than a month. It’s definitely not that I’m jealous of someone a lot younger than me getting so much attention.
On a human level, of course I’m pleased to hear that a perfectly nice seeming woman has safely birthed a healthy miniature version of herself and her husband. I’m not some sort of monster. But start telling me that I should care because she’s part of a family that have the divine right to rule over me and mine for time immemorial then I might just start to get violent.
Anyone hoping for a news story should stop right now. I’ve recently been to see a relatively newborn baby (I’m related to her and everything so she is naturally superior to any other recent expulsions from uteruses) and while rather cute, I can confirm that they don’t do all that much other than slumber. A lot. Get ready for weeks on end of royal snoozing.