Please, just DON’T touch the baby!

Everyone knows you’re not supposed to touch babies! When I say “everyone,” I mean that four- and five-year-olds ask permission to touch baby’s feet when I drop my son off at school. They are brimming with excitement to see a baby and yet they manage to ask permission before touching. And somehow they know you don’t touch a baby’s hands and face, since that’s how germs are passed around.

Randos in airports, shops, and restaurants, not so much… 

Look with your eyes, not your disgusting, disease ridden hands, people! 

Lucky for everyone, nobody touched my belly when I was pregnant. Hands would have been lost, but I think I must have given off a “don’t even” kind of vibe. I suspect I also put out that vibe of barely dormant violence just below the surface when I flagrantly breastfeed my daughter in public sans nursing cover because I don’t believe in them (for myself – but fully support anyone who does want to use one.) Of course, my resolve has never really been tested.

I know people who have been hassled for nursing in public and it infuriates me. Sometimes I fantasize about throwing down with some busybody mom botherer in a restaurant, baby still at my breast, making a video of their ignorance and posting it on social media, going viral and becoming a breastfeeding crusader, giving other moms the courage they need to feed their babies wherever and whenever said babies want to eat without fear – you know, just to educate people and raise awareness.  

No one really ever touched my belly without permission and no one has really ever looked askance at me when I’m nursing in public. I live in Atlanta – not in some tiny town or conservative enclave. My fantasy is not likely to become a reality anytime soon, but I suppose that’s good news. People here are pretty hip to babies and their need to feed.

So, if I’m prepared to (theoretically) be a menace to society when it comes to my own body, why is it so hard for me to tell people to back off when they touch my baby right in front of me without permission? She is totally defenseless! I am responsible for her!

I’m angry with myself just thinking and typing about it. 

I keep telling myself I don’t know these people and I don’t care what they think, but I don’t want to be rude! Why is my desire to be polite so strong? It’s so annoying.

I mean, I know exactly why – it’s because I am a female person, socialized to be ladylike, in spite of my feminist killjoy views and my burning desire to destroy the patriarchy till it’s a dead, distant memory. Still, somewhere deep down, I am programmed to be sweet, smiley, and accommodating. 

Precisely no one who knows me would describe me as sweet – at least I hope not! So, how and why do I put on that act with perfect strangers? Ugh! 

I resolve here and now to be a tougher warrior mama. Just as I refuse to force my son to hug or kiss or even interact with anyone he doesn’t want to, it’s my responsibility (and my husband’s) to keep people’s grimy digits off our infant daughter. Ultimately, this is all about consent.

Consent. There’s that word again. It’s so important and I want my children to understand instinctively, starting with those who might touch them when they can’t say no for themselves.

As we were returning from our recent trip to France, a couple of people in line at the gate were admiring the baby. One person touched her foot. WTF, I thought. Then a couple of men started complimenting her and one of them reached out to touch her. Believe it or not, I did muster up the gumption to ask him to refrain and he did not argue or get upset. That should bolster my confidence in my duties as a mother!

But alas, I don’t always think fast enough and before I know it, people are reaching for her cheeks and I’m just standing there watching.

I think it’s time for some role playing. I’m gonna practice my lines. It’s probably not necessary to punch anyone in the throat, but it would be good to have a couple of prepared comments. Here are a few, off the top of my head: 

• “Madam/Sir, please do not put your paws on my baby. She is not public property and you are not authorized to touch her.”
• “Excuse me, that baby has cholera! You should probably resist the urge to touch her if you want to live.”
• “Pardon me, but would you like for someone to accost you and rub your cheeks or pat your head? You may assume my baby does not like it either. I, for one, definitely do not.”
• “Please, madam, sir, I humbly request you keep your mitts off my offspring.”
• “Kind sir/madam, consider this fair warning – that baby has lightening reflexes and she bites.”
• “Before you touch my baby without consent, who is your next of kin and how can they be contacted?” 

See? It’s absolutely possible to protect my baby from molestation without sacrificing on diplomacy. Phew! I feel much better now that I’ve worked through that.

I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Thanks for reading!