“Oh, how PRECIOUS! Is he a good baby? HELLO!”
And then Nasty McGermyfingers reaches for my kid and I cringe.
Look nice bank lady, I know you’ve probably grasped the idea behind personal hygiene because you work at a bank, but you also WORK AT A BANK. I worked as a cashier for 5 years straight. There wasn’t a day that I didn’t wash BLACK CRAP off my hands from touching money all day. Now it’s true, this lady wasn’t behind the desk and she’s probably not had to count bills in years, but even so…why do you HAVE to touch him?
Why does everyone HAVE to touch him?
I get it, babies invite touching. Babies are soft and cute and have the most awesome silky skin, they smile and giggle and reach out…but they’re also so very vulnerable to the 304958304958396 billion fucking diseases you carry. Now, I breastfeed, I have had him immunized (and no, not worried one bit about Autism…Autism does NOT come from shots, FFS!) and I keep him clean. I know that him encountering SOME germs is plenty important, which is why I don’t worry if one of his toys hits the carpet at home or he grabs my blanket to gnaw on. I let family members hold him, I let family pets investigate.
But I also know the medical history of all those things. I know who’s had their shots, I know what’s irredeemably disgusting, and what’s probably not a big deal.
But you, nasty chubby bank lady…you I don’t know. I don’t know if you wash your hands after taking a dump. I don’t know if you just went to visit your diseased cousin in the hospital yesterday. I don’t know if you are reaching out with a clean hand or a dirty one.
And I’m so shocked and mortified…I let you do it. I want to choke the life out of you…but instead I stand there like a moron, washing him smile at you before finally saying, “He’s getting grumpy.”
“This is grumpy?” Shocked.
“Oh yes. Very. He’s teething.”
“He’s…this is teething?” Pure disbelief now.
“He’s pretty easy going, but I should take him home now.” I smile wildly at her, and off I go.
Thing is, I’d lie if I were of a mind to – but I don’t even have to. HAR HAR.
Now let’s get the little man home so mommy can wash off all the nasty bank-lady germs. YUCK!
My son has taken to scratching his face. He’s just turned 11 weeks, and up until now, no scratches at all. I figured that the older he got the less likely he would do it, so the idiot-mittens have remained in a box. But the first time…out they came. But I couldn’t bring myself to put them on. I have baby nail clippers I use on him, and he’d been recently trimmed, but…well fine we’ll wait until he passes out and trim and he’ll be good.
Nope. Another one the next day. Right on his nose!
Well, maybe he had a baby booger, and I don’t have a baby-booger-sucker-bulb-thingy, and maybe he just managed to do it…
Nope. Another one.
I don’t even know how he’s managing it, his nails are short, and I can’t trim them any closer…he’s just aiming for his face with whatever edge he can manage.
So now the subject of idiot-mittens are back on the table. But I STILL can’t bring myself to put them on. He’s JUST learning to grab things of his own volition. He’s JUST learning how to play with toys. He’s JUST learning to put his hands to his mouth when he’s NOT hungry. (Also, he occasionally gives his toys the finger.) I put mittens on that, now he’s unable to do any of that. Even if I just pop them on when he’s unconsious – it’s not fair to him if he wakes up and hell, he’s probably scratching himself while he’s learning to do this stuff.
So we put them on all the time? All for the sake of what? Tiny, itty bitty scratches that will totally heal? Fuck that.
No idiot-mittens for my boy.