Fresh Year, Fresh Blog: Making Baby Friends

It's been over two years since my last post as TutorMommy.  I couldn't figure out how to make a smooth transition from the happiness, the brokenness, and the randomness contained in my other blog, so I've decided to start fresh.  Welcome, friends.  It's A+ Parenting Today... 

Making Baby Friends

I took my 3-year-old and 1-year-old boys to the library today. I have to confess, I didn't really pack snacks. Living dangerously, I know. And after storytime, we may have hung around looking for books just a wee bit too long. So, with a couple of empty tummies and a full bag of books, we made our way to the checkout computers.  

At the computer next to ours, there was a mom with a single, exceptionally well-dressed little blond baby, probably about 18-months-old.  Adorable, sparkly silver boots. Matching sparkly tights. Sweet baby skirt. A faux fur vest over a cute long-sleeved shirt. Silver headband that she would never dream of pulling off of her head, since it complemented her outfit so well. 

"Hi baby," Well-Dressed Baby said sweetly to my 1-year-old Isaac, who pulled himself up on the stool next to her.  She softly patted his head and smiled.  Her mom reminded her to be gentle. I smiled and said, "He's the youngest of three. He's pretty tough." Famous last words.

Apparently, Isaac was listening. And needed to prove himself as the Tough Guy. 

Tucker arrived on the scene.  He began to climb up on the stool to help check out books, so I diligently reminded him not to step on Tough Guy's fingers. Because clearly, Tough Guy was at risk here, right?

Wrong. Tucker did not step on Tough Guy's fingers. And Tough Guy probably wouldn't have cared if he did. But Tucker. Poor Tucker. His rear end was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tough Guy sunk his 5 sharpened baby teeth right into Tucker's rear end, and Tucker sucked in air, and then screeeeaaaaammmed, his wails echoing throughout the quiet library. 

"No biting," I scolded Tough Guy quietly and ineffectually. Tucker screeeeeaaaammmed. I held him, trying to soothe and quiet him down (he's usually my real tough guy, so clearly this hurt.)  I tapped Tough Guy very gently on the mouth. "No biting," I repeated, as if he both a) understood and b) cared.  

Meanwhile, Well-Dressed Baby was whisked away by her mommy, away from the Biter and the Screamer, and their Scolder and Soother. Probably to tell her well-dressed husband about the Biter and the Screamer, and about Well-Dressed Baby's almost demise. 

That's A+ Parenting Today, folks. That's how we make baby friends in our family. That's just how we do it.