The Baby Rulebook

Yesterday, Ryan spent an hour and fifteen minutes in absolute hysterics until he finally dropped from exhaustion – but then his nap only lasted for 45 minutes. Doesn’t that seem a bit unfair to you? Mom spends an hour and fifteen minutes walking, rocking, bouncing, and singing, only to be rewarded with a mere 45 minutes of peace? I decided there should be a baby rulebook prohibiting such things.

So the first rule of my rulebook would be a minimal scream-to-nap time ratio. The time of screaming must be rewarded with equal time of napping. That’s a fair rule, right? But what other rules would I include in my rulebook?

There would probably be a whole section on diaper rules. Minimal time between diaper changes, for example. Ryan has had several episodes where I changed his diaper and less than fifteen minutes later he needed to be changed again. I would institute a 30-minute minimum policy. Also, peeing on the changing table would be prohibited at times when a) baby is wearing a dressy and/or dry-clean only outfit, and/or b) mommy is running late and doesn’t have time to dig out a second clean outfit. Oh, or c) we are out and about and either didn’t bring a change of clothes or already peed/pooped/spilled on the first outfit and have used up the change of clothes we brought. Also, peeing on the changing table at such velocity and volume that the stack of clean diapers, clean clothes, various assorted teddy bears, or the carpet below the table receive a dousing would be strictly prohibited.

Closely related to the diaper rules would be general laundry rules. Spitting up would only be permitted on outfits (baby’s or mommy’s) whose color coordinates with the dinner of the day. Carrots and sweet potatoes are acceptable on orange or yellow shirts, green beans and peas on green or khaki clothing. Pears, bananas, and rice cereal are wild cards. Similarly, overflow pooping would be prohibited on white onesies but acceptable on brown or khaki pants. Wet-only leaks are acceptable on quick-drying fabric only.

What about behavior? I’m not so unreasonable as to ban crying or whining altogether, but there are limitations. Whining at mealtimes should be limited to the end of the meal, not beginning just as the family sits down to eat. Crying in church is welcome during hymns, loud anthems, and the passing of the peace, but must be avoided during prayers and sermons. Church crying should also begin quietly so as to allow a parent a moment to escape unobtrusively. Sudden screaming without warning is unacceptable. Restaurant behavior should follow church behavior with the exception that pleasant cooing and the occasional reasonably quiet interjection is acceptable.

I bet I could get scores of other moms to support this rulebook. Now if only I could figure out how to get the babies to read it…

The Field Marks of Motherhood

In the well-known birders' handbook, Peterson's "Field Guide to the Birds", the illustrations clearly point out each bird's "field marks" - that is, distinctive identifiers that indicate, beyond a doubt, the identity of that bird as a member of a particular species. For example, the black-capped chickadee's distinctive - you guessed it - black cap:

Or the ruby-throated hummingbird's - you guessed it again - ruby throat:

Recently, I have begun to discover that it's not just birds who have those distinctive markings that make them so easy to identify in the field. Mothers, particularly new mothers, have a few "tells" that are unmistakable. One that I find I frequently bear myself is the decided dual scents of spit-up and formula, often with a background bouquet of just the slightest whiff of wet diaper. I was in the laundry room recently, moving a load from the washer to the dryer, when I leaned over my left (spit-up-stained) shoulder and suddenly realized: I smell like a mom!

There are many other tells as well as simple aroma. The dark circles under the eyes from midnight feedings, the constant bouncing motion that continues even when someone else is holding the baby, the tendency to lick a finger to clean someone's face or un-muss their hair, the still-unbrushed teeth at 2pm, the reflexive outstretched arm when coming to a quick stop in a car...these are all field marks that clearly identify the species Materna Americana.

With most birds and with most animals as well, the field marks serve to identify prospective mates, or to recognize territorial competitors, but with human mothers, they serve a very different purpose. They allow us to seek out others of our kind who can assure us that we are not alone, to pass along hints that are part of the great oral tradition of motherhood ("psst, it won't kill him to give him a dose of Benadryl every now and then so you can get some sleep!"), and to just give us a chance to whisper to each other knowingly, "Courage, sister!"