I've said it before, but I'm constantly amazed at how the world's attitude towards you changes when you are pregnant or have a young baby.
When I was toddling around, dragging my 30 extra kilograms of self, I was appreciative of the sympathetic glances that came my way; although slightly less so when strangers asked, with a freaky awed expression in their voices - as if they were blessed to come into contact with my fertility - if they could rub my stomach, a region too uncomfortably close to my swimsuit area for me to feel ok with being touched by anyone except my husband.
Now that I am toting Leya around, the glances I get are even more beatific. It's as if people have stumbled across Mary in their midst, and they can't believe sher is ding something as commonplace as having a cappucino. And I won't lie; as someone who frankly enjoys a spot of attention, I rather enjoy it, and I find it especially gratifying when people compliment my daughter (as well they should).
But when their comments go in the opposite direction - well, that's a different story altogether. I have just come from a breakfast where a man I have never met before walks up to me and inspects Leya with a shrewd eye, like a sheep farmer at a Free State auction. Immediately this strikes me as odd; attention from women I expect, but when men - and elderly men at that - want to discuss my baby, I wonder why they are not more interested in stocks and bonds, even if that makes me a chauvinist. "Hmm," says the man speculatively, "what's that on her wrist?"
"A birthmark," I answer, still bemused.
"Ah," he says, "that's alright then." My hackles rise slightly, I must confess. Am I to be relieved that this stranger does not mind my daughter having a birthmark? Has he been so troubled by it?
Now he leans in, confidingly. "She's a bit chubby, isn't she," he asks. Now, the answer to that is self-evident. Leya is a gloriously fat baby. The rolls on her thighs are so poly that it looks like she has three 'wu-wus' (as her dad calls them); her hands feel like soft feather quilts. Her plumpness is delicious, and I love it. "Yes," I say proudly. I must at this point mention that the man in question has a double chin so loose and wobbly it looks like a goitre cut loose from its moorings and trying to escape his neck - but, despite his own physical shortcomings, he says to me, "Well, as long as she loses it all."
WHAT??? Since when does it matter if babies are fat? Personally, I feel sorry for thin babies, but I would never walk up to a mom and say "Shame, your child looks like a brittle twig jutting from your hip." Since when is it ok to cast negative aspersions on people's relatives and their looks? Would he like it if I went up to him and said, "Tough luck with what happened to your daughter's face their, chum. Ah well, there's always rhinoplasty."
Does anyone else get indignant about this, or am I just defensive and sensitive, and perhaps in need of an extra hour's sleep?
When I was toddling around, dragging my 30 extra kilograms of self, I was appreciative of the sympathetic glances that came my way; although slightly less so when strangers asked, with a freaky awed expression in their voices - as if they were blessed to come into contact with my fertility - if they could rub my stomach, a region too uncomfortably close to my swimsuit area for me to feel ok with being touched by anyone except my husband.
Now that I am toting Leya around, the glances I get are even more beatific. It's as if people have stumbled across Mary in their midst, and they can't believe sher is ding something as commonplace as having a cappucino. And I won't lie; as someone who frankly enjoys a spot of attention, I rather enjoy it, and I find it especially gratifying when people compliment my daughter (as well they should).
But when their comments go in the opposite direction - well, that's a different story altogether. I have just come from a breakfast where a man I have never met before walks up to me and inspects Leya with a shrewd eye, like a sheep farmer at a Free State auction. Immediately this strikes me as odd; attention from women I expect, but when men - and elderly men at that - want to discuss my baby, I wonder why they are not more interested in stocks and bonds, even if that makes me a chauvinist. "Hmm," says the man speculatively, "what's that on her wrist?"
"A birthmark," I answer, still bemused.
"Ah," he says, "that's alright then." My hackles rise slightly, I must confess. Am I to be relieved that this stranger does not mind my daughter having a birthmark? Has he been so troubled by it?
Now he leans in, confidingly. "She's a bit chubby, isn't she," he asks. Now, the answer to that is self-evident. Leya is a gloriously fat baby. The rolls on her thighs are so poly that it looks like she has three 'wu-wus' (as her dad calls them); her hands feel like soft feather quilts. Her plumpness is delicious, and I love it. "Yes," I say proudly. I must at this point mention that the man in question has a double chin so loose and wobbly it looks like a goitre cut loose from its moorings and trying to escape his neck - but, despite his own physical shortcomings, he says to me, "Well, as long as she loses it all."
WHAT??? Since when does it matter if babies are fat? Personally, I feel sorry for thin babies, but I would never walk up to a mom and say "Shame, your child looks like a brittle twig jutting from your hip." Since when is it ok to cast negative aspersions on people's relatives and their looks? Would he like it if I went up to him and said, "Tough luck with what happened to your daughter's face their, chum. Ah well, there's always rhinoplasty."
Does anyone else get indignant about this, or am I just defensive and sensitive, and perhaps in need of an extra hour's sleep?
Never mind that man who told your princess she could call him in 30 years.
ReplyDeleteUm. No. She won't, thanks. You will always be a freaky old guy to her.