The Plight of a Doting Father

(from 2004)

In the nine months leading up to The Girl’s birth, I was scared to death that we’d have an ugly baby.  Oh don’t act so appalled. You prayed the same prayer I did for good looking kids.  I can’t help it if God tuned you out.  Fortunately my prayers were answered.  Now if I could only figure out the proper etiquette for responding to people who gush over this beautiful kid of mine.  I’m six months into this whole fatherhood thing and I haven’t been able to figure it out.  At the grocery store, in the mall, at the strip club, total strangers are constantly compelled to smile at my daughter, wave at her and tell me just how beautiful she is.  I find myself at least once a day agonizing over how to respond to these well-meaning cheek-pinchers when they squeal, “Oh, look at the baaay-beeeee!”

So far I’ve been dealing with them the same way I’ve always dealt with semi-pretty girls flirting with me: laugh nervously, avoid eye-contact, say something lame.

OLD LADY: “Look at that adorable face!”

ME: “Ha, yeah…”

MIDDLE-AGED MOM: “What a beautiful smile!”

ME: “Ha, yeah…”

REALLY HOT AEROBICS INSTRUCTOR: “I see your daddy’s been working out.”

ME: “Ha, ye–no, well I mean I was, in fact I… Ha, yeah…”

I guess it’s no surprise.  I’ve never been good at accepting compliments even for myself.  I always feel the need to explain them away.

AFTER A COMPLIMENT ON A JOB WELL DONE: “Yeah well, just don’t stand directly underneath it.”

AFTER A COMPLIMENT ON MY APPEARANCE: “Yeah well, you don’t have to see me naked.”

Those work great and draw plenty of nice uncomfortable laughs.  But I imagine they would only encourage a call to Child Services from the stranger who’s just told me how bright-eyed and alert my daughter is.

And what about those people who start making ga-ga faces at my daughter while I’m standing right there?  Have you ever been singing along to the radio at a red light, only to realize that the guy in the next car has been staring at you?  I certainly don’t want to make anybody feel that stupid, especially when they’re making my daughter laugh.  So should I look away and pretend I don’t see them and risk looking like a snob?  The only recourse I’ve found is to keep my eyes locked on my daughter and say in that overly excited baby voice, “Hey Little Girl, who’s playing with you?!?  …No seriously, I can’t see.  Who is it?”

On the flight home after Thanksgiving a man in our row spent the entire flight smiling and making “ba-ba-ba” noises at The Girl.  I sat next to the guy for two hours and never once saw his face.

I just keep telling myself these people don’t know me.  Whatever I do, they’ll forget about it ten minutes later.  Of course I’m no better around friends and family, most of whom naturally get a kick out of holding babies.  I’m all for letting them get their fix on The Girl, but again, what exactly is the proper etiquette for pimping out my daughter?  I feel silly asking, “Do you want to hold her?”  Am I so vain as to think that somebody’s life must be incomplete because they haven’t had the privilege of cradling the fruit of my loins?  Then again, I don’t want to not offer and look like one of those anal-retentive parents who get the shakes every time their baby is out of their arms.

Once again, I opt for playing the baby as my poker chip.  If I sense that Darwinian urge from some relative with an unfinished will, I’ll turn to The Girl and ask, “You wanna go see Aunt Tilly?”  The recipient is of course overjoyed and rethinking her decision to get her tubes tied, and I have dodged yet another baby etiquette bullet.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m eating this crap up with a tiny rubber spoon.  I consider every smile, wave and falsetto greeting just another notch on the old Natural Selection bedpost.  But I’m running out of creative ways to navigate these situations that Ms. Manners never covered in her column.  I’d write her a letter, but she probably wouldn’t be able to help anyway.  I mean have you seen her kids?