>Sharing the spotlight
>I might just have a budding Shirley Temple on my hands.
I took Baby to the doctor the other day to reassure myself that her nighttime coughing was not a reoccurrence of an ear infection (it wasn’t, and it has since gone away). At the check-in window, I said hello to the women behind the counter.
“Hay-YO!” Baby said brightly, waving.
“Well hello!” the office assistant replied. “How old are you?”
”Onnnnnne!” Baby replied triumphantly, holding up a finger. I smirked. After realizing that the ‘how old are you’ question came up every time a friendly stranger spoke to Baby, I quickly taught her that ‘Awwwww!’-provoking response. And then I went a step further.
“And when is your birthday, Baby?” I asked her.
“April ninth!” she crowed.
“Ohhhhhh, how adorable!” the other assistant laughed. “Can you sing a song?”
Baby launched into that crowd-pleasing favorite, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” As she sang, I marveled at her innate sense to slow down the song for added effect, and the way she looked each person in the eye. By the time she had finished, the check-in window was filled with office workers, the waiting room was completely silent, and my face was turning bright red as I second-guessed my decision to wear the Elmo t-shirt.
When she finished, both rooms erupted in applause. Smiling and embarrassed at the attention, I slunk off to a chair in the corner. It turns out Baby is taking after her father, the Man Who Loves the Spotlight. Only it’s up to me, the Woman Who Loves the Spotlight Not So Much to provide her with the human stage of my arms, whether I want to or not. The irony.
My suspicions about Baby’s genetic disposition were confirmed when we were shown to the examining room. As soon as we got inside, several nurses crammed in with us.
”We got a note in the computer to make her sing “Twinkle Twinkle,” one of them said excitedly. Dutifully, Baby launched into the song a second time. She amazed me again by adding solemn hand signals for her audience, waving her arms above her head for “world so high” and pointing off in the distance for “diamond in the sky.” Then she sang it again for a few more nurses who had come in late. More clapping. More embarrassment.
Finally, the doctor wedged her way through the oohing and ahhing crowd. I held my breath as she entered. Truthfully, I’ve come to hate this woman. Because she is perfect. She is beautiful. She is immaculately dressed. She only practices three days a week and spends the rest of her time with her four, count ‘em, four boys. She last gave birth just five months ago and already is back to her usual rail-thin self. And she always, always has a smile on her face, damn her. I’m pretty sure I’m the only woman in America who says ‘Hell, no’ when Hubs offers to take one of the girls to a doctor’s appointment.
“Hel-looo,” she crooned when she entered the room in a gorgeous St. John pantsuit. “How is everybody doing?”
“Well, I have ten pounds to lose, no high-powered three-day-a-week job to fund private school tuition and family trips to Europe, and I’m wearing an Elmo t-shirt. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Okay, okay. I didn’t say these things. But I sure as hell thought them.
“I understand that I’m supposed to ask Baby to sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” she said, dimpling prettily.
I looked at Baby, stifled a sigh and hoped the smile on my face didn’t look too strained. Here we go again.
But this time, Baby did the unthinkable. She looked at me, then looked back at the doctor and said, “No.”
“Oh pretty please?” said the doctor. “Please sing your song, Baby.” Her eyes sparkled. Her teeth flashed whiter than white.
Baby leaned into me. “No,” she said again. Triumphantly, I squeezed her and then sat her down on the examining table. A look of pure mother-daughter understanding passed between us.
”I’m sorry,” I said to the doctor. “I guess she’s feeling shy now.”
Still looking at me, Baby began singing “Twinkle, Twinkle.” Only this time, she changed the lyrics.
“Ma ma, ma ma, ma ma ma.
Ma ma, ma ma, ma ma ma.”
Maybe she’s inherited a few things from me, after all.
>I have seen the face and can imagine the voice that goes with it. She is just going to be a heartbreaker! The art of being coy is best perfected in early childhood. It seems to me she is right on target.
>Oh, my this was hilarious! She obviously knows to snub the right people, eh? (grin)By the way, i thought our girls were about a month apart in age. Nope, my Miss Kitty’s birthday is April 7th…no wonder we always have have a lot of the same things going on with our girls! (No stage performances for mine yet though!)
>She knows the real people and the fake people… she’s a smart baby… You did a good job, mom!!LadyBug
>Can I borrow Baby for awhile?
>Baby’s no fool. She’s gonna start charging for these little sessions if they get out of hand again. She’s not gonna waste the pretty!
>I really wish you had named this post “Nobody Puts Baby In the Corner”. I really do.
>I can almost hear the “ma ma, ma ma, ma ma ma” I think I would prefer that version.
>I’m just shocked she can say April 9th…!!! That’s from your side, no? 🙂
>You obviously have a genious for a baby, she can say when her birthday is? As the appropriate answer to a question? And she isn’t 2 yet? Genious.
>You all are too kind. She is just a good mimic. She has an ear for language and tone- so do I. So she can memorize all kinds of words and songs and phrases and she gets very excited about it. Running? Climbing? That kind of stuff? Not really that into it.I figure nearly all babies excel in one area or another.
>She sounds a lot like my first at that age – his strengths are verbal/social, too. He’s 4 1/2 now, and still isn’t confident in the motor skill area. Good for Baby, by the way, putting Dr. Perfect in her place. 🙂
>And you took her out for ice cream afterwards, right?!
>That is awesome.
>Just remember those St John clothes and the teeth bleaching were paid for by you. Without you , there would be no personal trainer, Boutique clothing and a 3 day work week. So you she should be thanking you.
>You’d better watch out… she’s going to be a heartbreaker!
>Laughing my ass off at the thought of you in the Elmo tshirt while Baby holds court. She is definitely a precocious little heartbreaker.
>Ha! Lena! I was thinking that all through reading the post! I was trying to figure out how L was going to fit it in – y’know, something along the lines of ‘Nobody puts Baby In The Corner – I’m too busy lurking there myself’….or something!But alas, it was not to be….
>Sometimes it is great having a verbally precocious little one. Other times not so much. You should just give up nd go with the flow trust me it is easier in the long run.
>OMG, there you are with your baby’s verbal precosity. And here I sit, having given birth to Tarzan and R2D2. Or something like that. Two strong, silent types. In diapers.You know what, FUCK the pediatrician and her glamorous job. If you need private school tuition, just rent Baby out to parents of late-talkers. We’d pay big bucks to have a child around who could communicate. “Such a wee little thing,” we’d say to ourselves. “And just listen to all that chatter!” After months of the cricket-chirping silence of our own offspring, we’d welcome the chance to drown in chatter.
>ha – this is so like mine. It’s just embarrassing how she can’t leave anyone alone, she MUST drag them into her fan club. My question is: how do you respond when people carry on about how gorgy she is? I haven’t figured it out yet, I still get embarrassed by the little ham too.
>you go baby girl — snub that rail thin doctor lady — sing the mama song — oh what a memory moment