christmas party
It seemed like such a good idea. We would take Gabriel to his first Christmas party where all of M's classmates could ooh and aah over him. I would not have to make conversation and could instead concentrate on scarfing some yummy yuletime treats and then leave.
The way it went down, however, is a different story.
Matt brought G in, all cute in his little red overalls and blue striped hat. There was great commotion. Everyone wanted to hold the baby. All the women, that is. G's always been great with strangers, so I didn't think much of passing him over. There was intense exclaiming and snuggling. There was loud conversation. He ended up passed around like a little hot potato until, yes, he started screaming. Naturally. Duh.
I took him into a bedroom and tried to calm him down, with no luck whatsoever. Party debut: 5 minutes. Screaming in bedroom: 50 minutes. M brought me a samosa and we decided to get the hell out of candyland.
In the car, reflecting on the experience, I realized that I had shown remarkably poor judgment, and not for the first time. But, I hate parties myself. Why would my child love them anymore than I, especially when it means getting man-handled by a gaggle of strangers? Poor thing. I feel like I owe him a big apology. Who is supposed to protect a baby from these horrors, if not his mother, who just hands him over for a good-natured mauling?
He screamed raggedly in the car until he fell asleep a few minutes from home.
He did sleep well that night.
The way it went down, however, is a different story.
Matt brought G in, all cute in his little red overalls and blue striped hat. There was great commotion. Everyone wanted to hold the baby. All the women, that is. G's always been great with strangers, so I didn't think much of passing him over. There was intense exclaiming and snuggling. There was loud conversation. He ended up passed around like a little hot potato until, yes, he started screaming. Naturally. Duh.
I took him into a bedroom and tried to calm him down, with no luck whatsoever. Party debut: 5 minutes. Screaming in bedroom: 50 minutes. M brought me a samosa and we decided to get the hell out of candyland.
In the car, reflecting on the experience, I realized that I had shown remarkably poor judgment, and not for the first time. But, I hate parties myself. Why would my child love them anymore than I, especially when it means getting man-handled by a gaggle of strangers? Poor thing. I feel like I owe him a big apology. Who is supposed to protect a baby from these horrors, if not his mother, who just hands him over for a good-natured mauling?
He screamed raggedly in the car until he fell asleep a few minutes from home.
He did sleep well that night.
posted by cmm at 8:56 AM
2 Comments:
I fully intend to maul G when I finally get to meet him -- let's hope, for his sake, that it's not 15 years from now...
And he will love you! There were just too many people at this party. It was insane. If I hadn't been so paralyzed by my own social ineptitude, I would have stepped in. Gotta be a grownup here, for the baby if no one else.
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