When I take the baby to the grocery store, I always have to plan at least an extra 5-10 minutes for people to stop and oogle over her cuteness. People just love babies, especially when they are as tiny as Daisy. I can’t say I blame them, I spend quite a bit of time oogling over her cuteness too. The disappointing thing is that at least 80% of the people who stop us to chat and take a peek say something stupid. I mean really stupid.
Here are a few examples:
“What country is she from?” (Right, because she’s brown, she must not be American.)
“Awww, she’s got your [fill in the blank]” (Come ON people. I’m fair skinned, redheaded, freckled and Irish. My babies are very dark, black curly-haired beauties. Genetics can play some crazy tricks, but not that crazy.)
“Is she okay in that thing [meaning my wrap]? Can she breathe?” (No, she can’t. I’m actually suffocating my baby right in front of you.)
On my most recent trip, I had gotten all three of the above comments before I even made it to the dairy section. I was exhausted and ready to get the heck out of there when another lady approached me. We went through all the typical questions “Is it a girl? What’s her name? How old?” before she surprised me with, “You a foster parent?”
“Wow. Yes I am. No one ever asks that!”
“I could tell by your smile. I am too.”
(double wow. What a sweet thing to say! Instant watery eyes)
“I have 3”
“I have three too!”
And so began a lovely conversation with a kindred soul in front of the milk case. A reminder that as different as my path often feels, I’m not alone. Gosh, I needed that.
