Everybody's Baby
Last month Simon's band played in the middle of a farmers market, amps and drums and mike stands set up on the sidewalk between the five-dollar-sunglasses tent and the five-dollar-T-shirts rack. (So I guess it wasn't so much a farmers market as a swap meet with some food booths. Tomato, tomahto.)
When the band started playing, I was 50 percent of their audience, dancing in the street with the other 50 percent on my hip, singing along to the songs I now know by heart. Before too long they had a bigger crowd--shoppers, strollers, little kids, those ubiquitous dancing hippies, and some guy with dreds and a top hat and a cane and a coat made out of what is that? scarves?--and then I was just a chick with a baby who, if you looked closely, would wink at the bass player from time to time.
Among the fans was the guitarist's family: mom and dad, siblings, and teenage nieces. We've seen each other at gigs over the years, but ever since I started showing up at events more and more pregnant, they seemed to take a particular interest in me. Instead of a polite wave hello from across the bar, I would find myself regularly accosted with hugs and kisses and inquiries into my well-being. Now that the baby's here, it's obvious what they were after.
At the farmers market gig last month, no sooner had they spotted me than I found myself babyless, Wombat whisked away by these adoring self-appointed aunties and uncles, who passed him around through three generations of the family, each reluctant to relinquish him to the next. Mother, daughter, and granddaughter fussed over Wombat's comfort, zipping and unzipping his jacket, forming a circle to keep the sun out of his eyes. The other granddaughter said, "I don't even like babies!" and then trotted him around in front of her posse of teenage boyfriends, who in turn gooned themselves in time with the music for Wombat's smiles.
While this was going on, I hovered not too far away and in fact close enough that I might have appeared the nervous mother. In actuality, I wasn't lingering because I was afriad someone would drop him or steal him but because it's a rare and wonderful thing to see my boy through other people's eyes for a change. Simon and I both see him through cartoon-style heart-shaped pupils, so it's fascinating to watch others watch him, learn him, figure him out on their own, without my biased commentary.
Letting people get to know a baby on their own terms is different than having someone confirm what we as parents already know--"Isn't he clever?" said the Irish lady at the pool last weekend, referring to Wombat's studious yet enthusiastic demeanor in the midst of all that sparkling water--because of course we already appreciate how clever/cute/happy/chill/silly/freakishly tall our children are (well, my child is; I don't know about yours).
It's a real trip, though, when someone notices something about him that I've never seen. "Isn't he romantic?" says Simon's "mommypal" whenever Wombat reaches for her face with both hands and then locks her in a gaze so deep that she blushes and looks away. "He's so romantic," she says, and now I see it too whenever he reaches for my face with both hands and dips his chocolatey brown eyes into my soul.
We want other people to see our children as the good, beautiful, perfect people we know them to be not just because it's true but because it validates us. Yes, they see it too. No, it's not just me. Yes, my god, he's really real. Yes, you can hold him, but no, you can't keep him because he's MINE. And that's maybe why I never have a hard time sharing him the way I feared I would. (Well, that and the fact that he now weighs over seventeen pounds and my arms are killing me!) (Which reminds me, I'm behind on well-baby check-up stats and photos. Will take care of that, stat (HAR).) It's a lot easier share something when you know it's undeniably yours and will eventually come back to you.
It's even easier to share when that something also knows it's yours and finally has the brain power and motor skills to indicate that he would like to come back to you NOW. During that farmers market gig, I did at one point leave Wombat with his admirers for a few minutes (just long enough to lock the keys in the car again, doh!), and when I came back and caught his eye, he did the most wonderful thing. He saw me, smiled hugely, and then lunged for me, arms outstretched, either heedless of the asphalt below or completely secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't let him fall. (This was before I let him crawl off the bed. Twice.) It was the first time he'd held out his arms to me with undeniable intention and preference, and so overwhelmed was I that I'm surprised the pieces of my exploded heart didn't burst out my ears and then flutter to the ground like parade confetti. He's everybody's baby, but he's also mine, mine, mine, and now he knows it too. I understand that we don't have children to make ourselves feel like rockstars (or at least we shouldn't), but that doesn't mean they don't have that power. Daddy may be the one in the band, but Mommy's the one under the spotlight.
Wombat reached for me and all the ladies went "aww" and said, "He wants his mama," and then pyrotechnics shot out the top of my head because I felt just that awesome. And then the band began to play. I'd gotten Wombat back just in time to hear "The Stranger", and I danced in the street with everything I had--50 percent of it on one hip and the other 50 percent behind the microphone singing our song.
Couldn't have said it better myself. They really are that amazing.
Man, I can't WAIT for Kyle to do that (lunge toward me). It's one thing I've been looking forward to since my baby brother did that 16 years ago.
But Kyle has done this thing since he was first born. He tries to turn to wherever the sound of my voice is. When he hears it, he looks around if he can't see me, and it's something I'll never forget and will always love. I actually never noticed it myself but enough strangers/friends/family made mention of it, that it quickly became my favorite thing on earth.
It is too early for me to be crying at work, but here we are. So beautiful.
"I danced in the street with everything I had--50 percent of it on one hip and the other 50 percent behind the microphone singing our song."
Reading that made me misty-eyed. So beautiful.
What's hard is when people start to point out negative aspects of your child (obviously this will NEVER happen with Wombat). When our childminder told us Anna was a very 'fearful' baby I didn't know whether to cry or slap her.
We got a new nanny.
That was beautiful.
Oh you said it so much better than I could! My four month old isn't quite reaching for me yet, but he definitely smiles when I pick him up from his daytime babysitter.. It absolutely melts my heart every time! :) Well written!
Oh you said it so much better than I could! My four month old isn't quite reaching for me yet, but he definitely smiles when I pick him up from his daytime babysitter.. It absolutely melts my heart every time! :) Well written!
So beautifully said. I love to pass my baby girl to others for all the reasons you wrote and because it makes them so happy. But in the end she is mine, mine, mine.
You have clearly forgotten all of the internet aunties and uncles to whom he also belongs. ;)
On a serious note, I loved this.
I have always been surprised when parents so easily passed their babies to others to hold and play with. I had assumed it was because their arms or hips were tired from carrying the heft around. This, however, makes perfect sense - the opportunity to view your child through someone else's eyes and beam with pride from afar. I can't wait for this!