Gently Down

I said I would never tell another mother how to dress or raise her kids. Mostly because you don’t know the whole story when you open your mouth, and you always look like a fool or a bitch when you tell me what I’m doing wrong. But I did it. And I still feel like an ass.

We’re in the middle of snowmaggedon right now, and while it’s nice it’s still chilly. We spend about 10 minutes getting Reed dressed every time we go out, and I still worry that he’s too cold (mostly because I am too cold). But we got down to the plaza and there was this baby with his parents screaming his head off. He looked like he was about four months old. And he was NOT wearing enough. He had a pants, a shirt, and a sweatshirt with a hood pulled up.

The couple came over to say hi (because usually you can count on people around hi to be nice and non-judgmental–at least until after you’ve left). They tried to get the baby to take notice of Reed and smile and maybe calm down a little. And I just couldn’t stop myself when his mom said, “He’s usually so happy to be out.”

“He needs gloves,” I said. “It’s cold.” Which is true! But she replied that he didn’t like gloves and walked away. It wasn’t like they were abusing the poor kid, but where do you draw the line in speaking up about kids that look like they may need a little more attention? The hands in question were bright red, and being out for only a few minutes I was already losing feeling in my toes. I was torn because I wanted to tell them about the bunting thing we’d had (which covered feet and hands without needing gloves) and wanting to keep my mouth closed, because it isn’t fair to assume that they’re stupid enough to take their son out in such cold weather dressed so poorly.

I’ve heard of people being told that their child wouldn’t be able to breathe with the plastic covering sold with their stroller, had people tell me that Reed shouldn’t be allowed to walk around the plaza as far from me as I let him, and had my mother tell me that Reed was very unsafe being carried by me. I know all of these people are acting with love in their hearts, as I was, but I still hate these people just a little.

Of course we used to raise our children as a village, with multiple generations having input. I don’t know. Should I be changing my opinion of busybodies? Or should I keep chastising myself for being one myself?