Does that make me a horrific bearer of ovaries? Am I disqualified?
So I sit here while the people around me talk to babies, entertain babies, hold babies, change baby diapers, all that jazz, and I feel as awkward as a teenybopper at a middle school dance.
No, really, I kinda sit in the corner and watch, waiting for someone to, I dunno, toss me the child. I DESPERATELY wish I were good at it. I wish I were that woman who begs to hold babies, who can't keep her hands off them. Who breaks into song just at the sight of them. Who squeals over the tiny shoes and the gurgling smiles.
I wish I were all that because babies deserve that. They are sweet and precious gifts, and I ADORE them. Really, I do. None of this is that I dislike them. I just don't know what to do.
I get all nervous and I have this sudden nagging fear that I am a clumsy bother, that it's best that I sit back and let the experts do their thing.
 |
| Chris's nephew, Reilly, was here for a visit with Chris's mom and sister Yeah, I don't typically think about how to handle babies until I have one right in front of me. He's a completely chill and adorable child . . . I just had no idea what to do . . . |
Mostly, I just watch.
You see, everyone ELSE is playing and caring for the kiddo. He's peeking and booing with three different people at once, and I sit there thinking, "There is absolutely NOTHING I can contribute to this. Nothing I offer can improve on the fun he's already having."
The child begins to cry, and, as everyone else consoles him with toys and food, I sit quietly because I feel like one more pleading voice adds to the noise. Does that make me a terrible person? I'm not trying to just let the child cry. I just don't know how anything I do could possibly make it better. Four people calling your name instead of three? Would that really fix it? I want him to feel better, I don't want him to be unhappy in the least bit. I just don't know what on earth I can give that could add to the good things everyone else is giving.
I remember being really shy at first with my baby sister, Davie, who was nine months old when we brought her home. I don't remember the transition between being shy and being her sister. I remember feeding her, changing her diapers, and playing with her like it was nothing at all. She was mine. My mom gave me directions, and I followed them to a tea. I don't remember it being hard. By the time Ellie came along, I was good to go.
They were mine. Maybe they weren't my children, but they were my sisters. I knew what to do. They needed me--my siblings and my parents. If Mom was momentarily unavailable, big sister Sarah was there to fix it. I had a place and a purpose.
Other people's babies? No clue. I need like step-by-step instruction. I try my best, but I feel ..... I feel like I'm doing something wrong.
Toddlers I can handle. Adore, even.
Heck, I can even do teenagers.
But a wide-eyed, speechless, breastfeeding infants?
I have flashbacks to when I was fourteen and trying to talk to boys.
Oh, peeps, it's totally the same thing.
You go up to this adorable little stranger with baggy pants and try to start a conversation and all they do is gawk at you like you're insane.
SAME THING.
The hubs on the other hand . . . .
The man needs a baby.
I mean, for real, folks. It's freakn beyond adorable.
