Strangers Can Be So Rude

Strangers Can Be So Rude

So I was in the food store the other day. Peanut picks this opportune moment to start bawling. It had been a long day. I know she doesn’t like her car seat. But she is not big enough to be propped up in the front of the cart. I get her out to calm her down, but she is clearly upset.

Now I’m holding and trying to comfort an unhappy baby girl. And I’m trying to keep the cart moving, don’t want to lose the car seat because I’d really be in the soup then. All the while I’ve been trying to get some ice cream to feed my gluttonous sweet tooth.

Then I notice this woman giving me a look. Clearly asking where the baby’s mother is. I have been judged and found wanting in the baby raising department.

It is the kind of look where you are supposed to notice it and accept the rebuke. But not so over the top that you react with, “Yo, whats your problem.” Not that I would do that in front of my little girl.

I have three children and I have been in stores with each of them many times. I’ve gotten this look before. When a baby is with their father and is unruly, or grumpy, or simply tired and irritable it’s his fault. Yet when the mother is the one with the unruly baby other women have looks of sympathy.

This is not true of all women of course. There are a select few who glare at you this way. Others seem bemused that you are even there with the baby. A few even look at the father with sympathy, or possibly empathy.

I’m not the best father in the world, I can admit this. But I can change diapers with the best of them. I wash clothes and make bottles. I can feed her the goo that Gerber calls food. We play together.

I don’t appreciate being judged by strangers in stores. It may be ingrained due to the cultural stereotype that women should raise babies. (I guarantee you I didn’t ask for a lay off when the store I worked for collapsed.) I prefer to be non-confrontational. I have more important things to do than waste time with some goofball.

Most importantly I don’t want her growing up believing that it is the purview of women alone to bear the brunt of childrearing. Some of my fondest memories involve my two boys between the ages of one and two. If she marries and has children I don’t want her husband to shirk chores and joys because of a cultural precept.

Even odder, I think that certain aspects of child-rearing can be very masculine. Men are supposed to like to fix things (problem-solvers or some such). Baby’s got poop. I can fix that. Baby’s hungry. I can fix that. Baby’s sleepy. I can fix that. The tentacle fell off your octopus. I can try to fix that. So if my baby is sad or scared and crying, don’t look at me funny. I can fix this too.