Fresh Mama, Fresh Child

"Most people feel that can say whatever they want to pregnant women and new mothers. With new fathers or the guy next to you on the subway with his nose stuck in the Post, most people will be tactful, they won't make eye contact, disinterested. But new mothers, people won't hesitate to tell you what they think."

Eliza's pediatrician said this to me after a particularly frustrated message I'd left concerning Eliza's "puking" problem. Eliza's always been a big spitter upper but she was gaining weight and very happy so I tried not to worry. Others, however, seemed to see my lack of Emergency Room visits as proof positive of my poor mothering skills. Eliza's still a big puker, but regular checkups and good health care indicate this to be more of a laundry problem, a big laundry problem mind you, than a medical one. This has not stopped the shaken heads, the looks of worry, the quiet accusations of neglect from people on the outer perimeter of my life.

And then there are the old ladies in the Rite Aid, the guy at the dry cleaner, the nosy old lady who lives next door whose told me several times my daughter has colic. I'm glad my next door neighbor, who's seen my daughter exactly six times in Eliza's five months, knows my daughter better than me. I don't take these comments seriously but they sting, still make me feel like I'm not doing my job well. I've always been hard on myself, particularly when it comes to work and my "job" as a mother is no exception. I've cried about the diaper I forgot to change, blamed myself for Eliza's puking problem, called myself a bad mother when I checked my email for two minutes before I fed my daughter. I can shrug off the comment at the moment but the part of me that worries about what kind of mother I am gets fueled by strangers lack of confidence in my parental capabilities.

Eliza has a small head, in fact even a hat designed for a three month old falls off her little peanut head. Now that we're hitting a sunnier season, I have to put a hat with some kind of brim on my daughter. Within minutes, the hat covers her tiny face. Just like the puking and the loud music I play, these state of temporary blindness is of little consequence to my daughter. I'll push back the hat only to find the face beneath it split into a big smile. But walks with other people take on the constant strain of rush hour traffic. Every few minutes my companion will point to the hat and we stop, I push the hat away and we resume only to stop a few feet ahead.

Yesterday, I dressed Eliza in her pink corduroy coat with it's matching, sassy hat that despite its fetching appearance is too big for little Miss Eli. I strapped her in the bjorn and rushed to the bus. As I got on the bus, running for it I might add, some woman tapped my shoulder and very angrily said, "That hat is covering her eyes. Your baby, she can't see nothing."

I nodded and pulled the hat off Eliza's head. There were plenty of empty seats in the front of the bus, the part reserved for the elderly and handicapped so I sat down. At the next stop, some old man apparently wanted my seat so badly he practically sat on me. I'm happy to give up my seat for the elderly, but like I said there were plenty of empty seats around and I don't like to get up with Eliza attached to me on a moving vehicle. The man didn't care however, basically forced me and the baby out of his way then thanked me when I practically fell over as I moved to another seat. Hey old man, if you're reading this, might I suggest you sit in the nearest seat and then ask me to move when the bus comes to a complete stop next time.

Now I found myself seated near an old lady who smiled at Eliza, then pointed to her head.

"She's going to get a cold head. You should put something on it."

I smiled back at the woman, was about to say something about the size of the hat when suddenly I just didn't feel like it. Why should I constantly have to justify my actions as a mother to complete strangers?

"Isn't it wonderful," I said, the smile forced on my face. "When you have your own kids, you can tell them what to do. You can put hats on them. Isn't that great?"

The woman thumped her forefinger against her chest. "I'm a grandmother," she said. "I know."

"How wonderful for you. You can tell your children what to do with your grandchildren. That's great," I answered.

The woman shook her head, now visibly angry. "You have a fresh mouth," she said. "Fresh mama, fresh mama. A fresh mama will have a fresh child."

She dramatically turned away as if to say "this conversation is over."

I had no desire to continue speaking to this woman, but I will say now, if by telling strangers to mind their own business, Eliza will be "fresh" than I don't mind it. There's a difference between some one trying to help out of genuine consideration and some one who offers you advice as a way to put you down. I really don't think the person who tells you your baby needs a hat is concerned with the welfare of your child. If they were, they might interact with the baby a little before they decide that the baby needs help.

My job as a script supervisor is often referred to as a thankless job, one that's very necessary but goes unnoticed unless there's a problem. No one was going to come up to me after a seamless episode of "Law & Order" and say, "Boy the continuity in that episode was great!" They will have plenty to say, however, if they notice if the character has a bruise on the right side of his face when in the earlier fight scene he was clearly punched on left. My job was about making mistakes not happen.

I find the role of mother to be very similar in that no one really tells me what a great job I'm doing. I realize in life, very few people get accolades in the workplace on a regular basis. But there are promotions, raises, employee of the month picture smiling from the walls. Being a mother is the greatest endurance test I've ever taken. The rewards, my daughter really, are great but I spend half the day feeling guilty about the things I could have done better. I try to remind myself that Eliza's happy so I must be doing something right but there's no real way of knowing exactly how well I'm doing at this new task I've taken on.

So for mother's day people, I propose everyone who passes a mother on the street should maybe take a moment to watch a little mama/baby interaction and then compliment that mother. Because even the most secure, confidant mother can benefit from a little reassurance. The child will get a great lesson as well--what it's like to give some one a real show of support. and i the meantime, I'd like to ask clothing manufactures to please make hats for babies in smaller sizes. So maybe, if I have another, this one will be shielded from the sun and shielded from the world at the same time.