Performing the Baby Ballet
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There's something satisfying about setting a toddler up for his/her meal in a restaurant successfully.
Swoop, swing, shift, wipe, shift again, wipe again, plop, click, clear, scooch, kiss--ready!
I call it the baby ballet--the fluid movements a mother performs to get the kid situated, antibacterial-ed, sitting, bibbed, de-sleeved, toyed-up and content.
Last night my friend, mother of an 18-month-old beautiful little lady, and I performed this as a duet. It was beautiful and pretty much in sync right to the point where we sat down at the same time with a collective sigh of relief. I don't know how it looked to others, but I'd like to think they were impressed.
When I first became a mom I often said we should get another arm and hand when the baby comes. How nice would take be?
Now, though, even with my standard-issue two arms, I think I've got it. I've performed the baby ballet at venues other than restaurants. The grocery store, department stores, parking lots, parties, home--they're are all a stage depending on weather conditions.
Over this last year I've balanced a number of things on my thigh to open a door; carried more than any normal human can handle in one trip; defended myself and Lincoln from greeting dog attacks; put on a coat with arms full; and pushed a stroller holding a newborn and several bags while recovering from a c-section. I could go on and on, and so could you, I'm sure.
What is it that gives us this ability? I feel like I look like I have it all together. As stupid as I may look, I have it down. As dangerous as it may look, too, Lincoln is safe. We'll see how it goes if we add another kid to the performance.
Do you perform the baby ballet?
Erin Hill is a first-time mom to Lincoln, who was born in January 2010. She's learning as she goes and is experiencing everything a new mom goes through while seeing the humor, irony, and enjoyment in her adventures.
Erin is a full-time technical writer and features freelance writer in her "spare time." She lives in Plum with Lincoln, her husband, Adam, their dog, Roxie, and five (yes, five) cats, Nirvana, Gary Roberts, Elvis, Talbot and Forrest.
Three times in one day this weekend Lincoln was mistaken for a girl. First off, I don’t care. I understand it’s difficult to tell sometimes (apparently, even when the boy is wearing a football shirt). I told him just last week he should have been born a girl--it’s not fair for those eyelashes and curls to be on a boy who won’t appreciate it.
This weekend I was at my parents with Adam and Lincoln. They have some toys there that Lincoln was playing with and scattering around their family room. Thinking nothing of it, I followed behind him picking up everything he was throwing around. Just right there behind him, like a human vacuum that only picks up blocks and things with Elmo on them.
Yesterday, I was literally presented with a box of my favorite chocolates. Lincoln held that box up--that was bigger than his head--and gave me a huge smile. He looked so excited to give it to me. Taking a cue from my mom, an excellent gift receiver, I made a huge deal about it.
