What is it about a baby that gets so many of us oohing and aahing, crooning and cooing, talking nonsense and pulling funny faces?
Babies, after all, are commonplace. We all were one, many of us have had one or more, many of us plan to have at least one, and some of us would desperately like to — but are cruelly unable to.
They cry, they fret, they dribble, puke and soil themselves, and seldom sleep when their parents want them to, yet the sight of a newborn is — far more often than not — cause for great delight, excitement, and an overwhelming intensity of emotion — even if the child is not your own.
Perhaps it is because babies represent pure innocence and vulnerability, unfettered possibility, regeneration, continuation, the best of us, our love, commitment, our hopes and dreams, the chance to relive or recast our own childhoods, they bring out our desire to nurture and protect, be loved and nurtured and protected in return. They really are little bundles of joy, with the power to erase heartache and hardship with one (albeit often wind-provoked) shaky smile.
It is hardly a surprise, then, that with a royal baby the scenario is magnified exponentially. Everyone wants in on the feel-good factor.