Walking around with a baby is a little bit like walking around with a sign overhead that says, “Talk to me! Really! I’m not crazy!”
Graham hasn’t yet learned the societal dictate of avoiding eye contact (an unfortunate expectation that I’m always trying to buck anyways), so whenever someone is close enough to look at, he looks them right in the eye and studies them seriously.
This makes a few people uncomfortable. They look away, become busy examining their nails, or remember an urgent matter they have to text their childhood best friend about—but it delights most people. Eye contact is an open invitation for conversation, and eye contact from a cute baby (biased) (but true), is the equivalent of donuts on a Saturday morning, or the first warm wind of spring. It’s euphoria.
ANYWAYS. When my baby makes eye contact with someone, he elicits a few very predictable responses.
The Grey Elders. “Hi, bud-dy, can I have a smile?” [Reaches arms out for baby, then immediately has to maneuver baby away from dangling jewelry and glasses.] “Oof, you’re an active one, aren’t you? And so solid.” [Holds baby for a few minutes, usually searches for a chair to rock baby in, then hands baby back. Baby smells faintly of perfume for next several hours.]
The Casual Conversationalist. “Oooo, your eyes are so blue! Hello! Yes, hi there! How are you? What did you do today? Is that your mommy?” [Pushes face up close to baby’s face, repeating one or all of the questions, then waits for sign of acknowledgement.] [Baby usually studies the face for a while, then smiles and presses his head into my shoulder.] [Nothing is more precious/melting than the “Baby Head Press.”]
The Baby Snatchers. “Can I hold the baby?” [I hand the baby over, unless it’s a total stranger like the lady last week. Then I keep the baby and smile and say, “No, that’s okay. He’s fine.”] “Anyways, how are you?” [Baby watches me from this unique vantage point of someone else’s arms. I simultaneously engage in every un-sophisticated form of interaction with baby.]
And best for last.
The Teenagers. “Hi Graham! How are you?” [Pats baby on the back. Asks to hold baby. Plays with baby. Gives baby back to me whenever I ask, or keeps baby until he cries.] Babies love kids, even the mostly-grown-up kids. Graham spends a lot of time with teenagers, and he loves them. [Perhaps one of my favorite “baby and teenager” scenarios is the person who, without fail, comes up to Graham, pats him on the head or holds him, and says, “Child.”]
Babies (when they’re not crying) bring out the best in people.
On a more philosophical day, I’d say it’s because the adult human soul longs for purity and innocence, and babies are the epitome of pure innocence.
On a less philosophical day, I’d say it’s because babies are cute and sweet and charming (especially mine).
Either way, it’s a pleasure and a privilege to raise a baby in a community where he is universally known, loved, and interacted with by every single type of person, even the ones I didn’t mention.
We are blessed.
Graham’s favorite part of watching his daddy coach basketball is EITHER chewing on the candy bar wrapper, OR finding little morsels of popcorn under the benches.