At Go, we educate our mothers, our grandmothers, our fathers, our grandfathers, and so on!
Go!
Don't touch my baby! When I'm grocery shopping, I know my daughter is beautiful, and I know people want to nibble on her chubby cheeks and plump little feet, but... Don't touch my baby!
In college, a professor taught me that a thinker in the tradition of Darwin said that the smell of babies was an evolutionary survival mechanism. When a mother smells her baby, she feels the urge to care for and protect it. So during the first month, I told myself it was normal for people to be drawn to my baby. It’s all about the preservation of the human race, after all!
So, when the old lady, full of love and germs, touched my sleeping daughter's cheek and mouth, I calmly said to myself: Preservation of the Human Race. When another woman told me that she would love to have grandchildren, but that her daughters can't have any, I listened to her story and repeated to myself like a mantra: preservation of humanity, as she was stroking my 3-week-old daughter's head... in a hospital waiting room.
I’ve heard plenty of stories. Sometimes I’d even open the little window to show off my precious one to the people craning their necks in line at a store while she let her voice ring out, just like a Castafiore. “Yes, she’s a big baby, 8 weeks old, doesn’t sleep much—yes, it goes by fast, etc., etc.” If it makes them feel better, why not? When she was screaming, I listened to the well-worn, crumpled advice from Auntie and Uncle, full of kindness, always patiently, while repeating to myself: preservation of the human race.
It had become my mantra... until a woman at the grocery store tried to force a pacifier into my crying baby’s mouth while I was checking out! That was the last straw. DON’T TOUCH MY BABY! The following week, a man tried to peek through the little peephole while I was grabbing a bag of milk. He then looked at me, amused because she started screaming: “Ha, I think she was scared of me! Hihihi.” WTF?! I finished my grocery shopping with my 3-month-old baby in my arms because she was crying. DON’T TOUCH MY BABY!
A baby is crying, and you feel vulnerable because your instinct to protect the human race is too strong, and you want to help?
- Help the parent pack the grocery bags so they can comfort her more quickly.
-Let him pay before you if you're not in a hurry.
-Don't judge a mom who breastfeeds in public.
- Don't stick your stranger face 2 inches from the baby's face, thinking you're Krusty the Clown and that you can make all the kids laugh!
- You can smile at him at a safe distance On the other hand, you don't want her to think that her parent has disappeared and that now you're the only one who exists.
-You can ask for permission to touch the baby's foot or to open the blanket to see the baby.
-You can ask, "Can I help you?"
-You can encourage the parent or simply avoid sighing with impatience.
For the past 4 months, I've been intolerant. Today I caught myself begging a woman: “Please don’t touch her—it’s almost feeding time, and she’s going to scream.” YES, YES, I begged her! I begged a woman with my exhausted raccoon eyes to let my little human have the right to her physical integrity.. She didn't listen to me. She parted the little boy’s legs to look at my daughter and smile at her. She actually had the nerve to say to me, “No way! I wouldn’t touch her. I’d never do that.” No, you just invaded our personal space. You know when your mom used to tell you at the store, “Look with your eyes, Yolande”? Well, you know what, Yolande? If you press your face right up against that little porcelain angel, you might not break it, but there’s a good chance the saleswoman will give you a dirty look.
DON'T TOUCH MY BABY!
Thank you for listening to my heartfelt plea, and let’s teach all these kind-hearted people with such honorable intentions the right way to interact with our little ones!