Baby's Giant Monster

At some point, I am sure Henry will become Mommy's little monster. But right now the monster in this duo is definitely Mommy. I've developed some decidedly bad behavior lately, and am becoming the kind of mother I strongly disliked before Henry was born. I've taken to responding to Nate's casual comments about Henry moving out of his bassinet or going off to college by saying "NO! Henry will not move so far away from Mommy as his crib in the next room! I will be a professor. There is no need for Henry to go away to college--I will educate him! Henry will never leave Mommy!" 

I've also started to expect, and sometimes demand out loud, compliments about my adorable baby. For instance, yesterday I went to a holiday lunch with five good friends. When we were all seated, I said something like this: "I require you to adore my baby for a minimum of five minutes. Isn't he so adorable with his eyes closed? Isn't he so adorable with his eyes open? You now have four minutes and 30 seconds to adore him, and then you may order lunch and talk about your dissertations. Begin." When one dear friend told me that Henry was the cutest baby in the whole world ever, I smiled and said "I know" as if she'd just volunteered something completely self-evident to everyone. No "thank you." Or, oh schucks, your kid isn't half bad either! I've lost all sense of propriety and tact. The other day, Henry came along to a meeting with some of my colleagues. I was totally taken aback that one co-worker didn't even LOOK in the stroller to see the cutest baby in the whole world ever. No glance. No peek. Nothing. I started to feel like there was something seriously wrong with her. Like we didn't share the same core values. Like I was from real America and she was from fake, baby-hating America. Another colleague told me Henry was "cute." Not even one superlative? Was she blind? The last time I'd felt so slighted was when a fellow equestrian, who has never, ever been forgiven, commented that my horse had a giraffe neck. 

The only people who can satiate me with baby praise are Henry's dad and his two sets of grandparents. My Mom is particularly good at this: every time I talk to her on the phone she tells me he is perfect in 27 different ways that always end with her saying "he is just so perfect!" And, of course, Nate and I usually dedicate at least a 1/2 hour of our day to sitting on the bed with Henry in between us, having a conversation that goes like this: 

"I know all parents say this, but he really is the cutest baby ever." 

"I know. But he really is so adorable."

"I know. And he's like a baby genius. He can almost suck his thumb."

"I know. He's been able to hold his head up almost from the moment he was born. He has superior muscle control."

"I know. He's like all the beautiful parts of me and you combined and none of the weird stuff."

"I know. He makes the cutest faces. Like that one--kind of constipated and a little bit happy. It's my favorite."

"I know. Mine too. Don't you think his eyebrows have the perfect angle?"

"Yes! I know they do."

"I know. He is so much cuter than all other babies I've ever seen."

Then we kiss him a  bunch. 

When I go shopping, I angle for the cashier most likely to compliment me on my adorable baby (usually female, over 40, this time of year wearing a Santa sweater. I love those ladies). My rationale for tipping now relies on the quality of the baby gushing, not the service. The waitress at our holiday lunch who said, "That's the cutest face I've seen all day!": standard 15 %. Because really, she could have said "all year" or "my whole entire life."

Nate is trying to bring me gently back to earth, reminding me not to take it personally that the gas station attendant who couldn't even see Henry swaddled in his car seat refused to comment on his pink cheeks and little toes. I've even tried practicing telling other people their children are the most adorable, though I nearly choke on the lie. Because, seriously. Monstrous mommy or not, I know the truth. And everyone else is just jealous of my adorable baby.