During my first pregnancy, I spent a long time wondering what would drive me the craziest. Would it be everyone’s “auntie advice”? Or the stares because I was young? And finally, I realized that the absolute worst thing was the idea of my baby becoming a tourist attraction. And “tourist attraction” is an understatement!
I’m walking down the aisles at the grocery store, looking for sauces to make a nice plate of spaghetti, with my husband following behind with the shopping cart—the cart itself like a king’s throne. The little old lady, as tall as three apples, wrinkled like a prune, with hair as white as cauliflower, comes walking toward us. I dread the encounter, with her questions about my baby, as if she’d never seen anything like it in her life. Then, the worst happens: her hands touch my baby, my flesh, my child. Her hands, which she’ll bring to her mouth in a few moments; her face, which is already exposed enough to germs; her head, so fragile and soft. I have two questions: Who are you? Why?
Who are you to get so close? Who are you to touch my child? Who are you?
Why are you touching my child?
Why are you so interested in my baby? Why? Are we close to you? Do you feel lonely? I’d like to know the reasons!
Do you know that children were made by human beings, so they, too, are human beings? Do you know that they don’t want to be patted on the head? I’m really not a social person, especially when you consider that my child is a national treasure and that anyone can take an interest in them. Do I go around touching your cheeks while you’re looking at which loaf of brown bread you want? No? Then let go of my baby!
Someone should have warned me that they were going to turn into tourist attractions! Anyway, kids are human beings just like you and me, and they have a right to their freedom!