When the Baby Isn't Yours
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Mr Properly and I went to a BBQ this weekend. Chicken burgers, Uncle Fred's cole slaw, Whole Foods two-bite brownies. And a lesson in how not to handle someone else's child. Except for in this instance, the child was ours.
The culprit was the hostess's friend, a woman I'd met only once before at a group dinner.
First, some background. Mr P and I aren't precious - not annoyingly so anyway. We're happy for people to hold our child, as long as they wash their hands (he's nine weeks old, so give us - and him - a break). And our friends are more than happy to accommodate this request - they know how filthy public transport is, and how untainted (as of now) our son is. And so they do it, then they hold him gently and lovingly, like they should.
This childless woman ran to the front of the baby holding queue and didn't wash her hands (even though a good, well-trained friend very clearly said in front of her: "I'm going to wash my hands so I can hold him - be right back!" and I made a suggestive joke about our hand-washing neurosis).
But my complaint is that once she had him, she proceeded to be appallingly casual and familiar with him.
Holding him with one arm while talking to someone and gesturing wildly with the other. (He weighs 12 pounds, even we can't do that with ease.)
Kissing his feet when a sock came off. (Do you know where that foot has been? On my mouth. And do you know where my mouth has been?)
Kissing his head repeatedly. (See above.)
Standing outside on the balcony not far from the edge or the sun. (Miss, step away from the sun.)
Our son, smart little man, slept through it all.
A little while later, another good friend (and mother of three) arrived. She washed her hands, cradled him with respect, love and care (and both arms), and he looked deep into her eyes.
Nine week olds may not know much, but it seems that baby-holding etiquette is innate.
First, some background. Mr P and I aren't precious - not annoyingly so anyway. We're happy for people to hold our child, as long as they wash their hands (he's nine weeks old, so give us - and him - a break). And our friends are more than happy to accommodate this request - they know how filthy public transport is, and how untainted (as of now) our son is. And so they do it, then they hold him gently and lovingly, like they should.
This childless woman ran to the front of the baby holding queue and didn't wash her hands (even though a good, well-trained friend very clearly said in front of her: "I'm going to wash my hands so I can hold him - be right back!" and I made a suggestive joke about our hand-washing neurosis).
But my complaint is that once she had him, she proceeded to be appallingly casual and familiar with him.
Holding him with one arm while talking to someone and gesturing wildly with the other. (He weighs 12 pounds, even we can't do that with ease.)
Kissing his feet when a sock came off. (Do you know where that foot has been? On my mouth. And do you know where my mouth has been?)
Kissing his head repeatedly. (See above.)
Standing outside on the balcony not far from the edge or the sun. (Miss, step away from the sun.)
Our son, smart little man, slept through it all.
A little while later, another good friend (and mother of three) arrived. She washed her hands, cradled him with respect, love and care (and both arms), and he looked deep into her eyes.
Nine week olds may not know much, but it seems that baby-holding etiquette is innate.
Here Is The Writer : Mr & Mrs Properly
Mr and Mrs Properly will never come to your home empty-handed. They hold doors for young and old alike, always say please and thank you (especially to each other), and try not to be judgemental when they witness bad manners. Their bookshelves feature works by Debrett's, Knigge, Miss Manners and Emily Post, and when they're bored, they write this column for Here Is The City while making dinner. Both work in the City.
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