Cutie Patootie: A newborn makes you the center of attention
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According to Andi Buchanan, "mother shock" is the state in which many new parents exist during those first confusing, chaotic, and often comical years of parenting. It is the clash between expectation and result, theory and reality; a twilight zone of 24-hour-a-day living where life is no longer neatly divided into day and night. Read some essays from the author of Mother Shock: Loving Every (Other) Minute of It here at Pregnancy & Baby!
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I'm not used to this, because until just 14 weeks ago, I was pushing around a grunting, mean-faced, scowling, defiant preschooler whose response to strangers' complimentary remarks on her casual ensemble of out-of-season Halloween costumes was a defensive growl. When people on the street smile in our general direction, my reflex is to quickly smile back and then pick up the pace before they can come too close and hear Emi bellowing, "I don't want that lady to SEE ME!!!"
The other week I was reading through the page proofs of my book in the same cafe where I wrote most of it, this time with Nate hanging out in the crook of my arm instead of kicking and squirming inside me. Every few minutes I'd be startled from my marking down of bad breaks and serial commas by some complete stranger popping their head over my work and speaking in baby talk. It never ceased to surprise me that they were doing this, and that they weren't talking to me.
"What an ADORABLE baby!" they'd say. Or, "Why, he's just like a little doll!" or, "He's the Gerber Baby!" or "His skin is like PORCELAIN!" or, "What a cutie patootie!" And of course (though to my pleasant surprise, since I'm prepared for the kind of social interaction at which Emi now excels) he'd just smile and gurgle at them, and the strangers would melt.
Suddenly I was popular again, the Good Mom of a Super Cute Baby. It was a little unnerving. If those same strangers ran into me on the street on my way home from picking up Emi at school and got a good look at her grunting face while she shouted "GO AWAY!!!!", they'd run fast in the other direction, thinking to themselves what an unbelievable offense it is that I can't control my child or teach her some basic social niceties. Until Nate came along and I began to realize that he's cute and well behaved and that equals good to the old ladies who ogle us in public, I hadn't really questioned my metamorphosis into the Bad Mom of a Temperamental Pre-Schooler. But now I'm realizing that maybe it's less about me than it is the ever-changing court of public opinion.
Nate is an "adorable" "Gerber Baby" because, well, he's adorable and looks like the Gerber Baby. But more than that, he's quiet and unobtrusive and doesn't take up much space, and it seems as though that's the only way strangers like their children. When he is bundled up in the stroller and can't be seen, he and I are just a nuisance, blocking the doorways of stores they are trying to get into, taking up too much room in the elevator. But when people suddenly notice his bright eyes staring up at them, it's a different story: they open doors for us, they smile at me, and I'm suddenly no longer just an inconvenient breeder.
Emi doesn't usually get that kind of positive response from strangers because she's already a little person with a strong will of her own, and if someone comes near to her, reaching down into her personal space to ruffle her hair or squeeze her cheeks or engage her in conversation or even just give her a compliment, she's likely to freak out. I feel guilty sometimes when this happens, like I need to make the strangers feel better. But the fact is, those same strangers would never expect another adult to sit idly while their cheeks were pinched, so why should they expect that of my child?
Nate is a blank slate for strangers; Emi's blank slate time has passed. She already has her personality stubbornly scrawled across herself, as well she should. And come to think of it, the reason that all those strangers' remarks about Nate give me a peculiar sense of deja-vu is because those are the very same things people used to say to me about Emi when she was a baby. So Nate will probably have his day, too, and maybe in 3 years when people come close to peer at him he'll snap back with something with a lot more bite than "Ah-goo!"
Yesterday I went out to run errands, leaving Nate at home with Daddy. It was just me and Emi, going to stores on a crisp winter day. Soon, despite the cold (and the fact that she is normally immune to naps), Emi fell asleep in the stroller. I went to CVS, found the things I needed to find, and stood in line for an eternity. Finally I made it to the counter, paid for my things, and got ready to go. As I was putting on my gloves, someone startled me by saying, "Oh! Your baby doll is so cute!" Frantic, I looked around, thinking for a moment I had forgotten Nate somewhere. It took me a moment to realize she was talking about Emi.
"Look at those eyelashes!" the woman said. "And those sparkly shoes! She looks like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz! She's just gorgeous! She's just like a baby doll!"
I just nodded and smiled and looked down at Emi, sleeping with a peaceful, beautiful look on her face, unable to grunt or glare or otherwise interfere with this stranger's perception of her, and said simply, "Yes, she is."
