The Good Baby • Laurie Wagner

Ever since I've become a mother I've become very popular. Strangers on the street come up and coo into the stroller, "Oh, look at the little baby. She's so precious. Those eyes, those lips, what a cute little baby." And then the inevitable question, "Is she a good baby?" they'll ask, smiling up at me, expecting an answer. In the first few weeks, still dazed and delirious from lack of sleep, I'd say, "Yes, yes, she's a very good baby." But after being asked this question seventeen thousand times, I started wondering what people were really wanting to know. "Good baby?" I thought. "What does that mean? Does Ruby cry? Does she poop? Does she let me sleep through the night? Does she let me read the newspaper anymore? I mean, what the hell is a good baby?"

Now, I'm not Penelope Leach, but what I've observed in my seventh week of motherhood is that babies are all about pooping, peeing and crying. Period. Babies are supposed to spit up on you and poop all over the new diaper you just put them in. They're supposed to get so fussy on your nipple that you're sure they're going to rip it right off. And yes, it's a baby's job to cry; in the middle of the night, during the day, in the super market, the drugstore, while you're on the phone, you name it.

Sure it would be nice to get my eight hours in every night. And it would be great to be able to sit down to a meal and actually eat it before it gets cold or be able to sashay all over town like I did in my former life, heading into Tower Records to get the new Foo Fighters CD without a screaming Ruby. But like it or not, babies are not convenient, say like, cats, who let you do your business as long as you leave food in their bowl. But because I can't do things like I used to, because my world has been so utterly upset, does that make Ruby a bad baby? I don't think so. Frankly, if Ruby was a good baby in the way I think these friends and strangers mean it, well, we'd be in big trouble. For instance, after her first full day with Ruby, her grandmother exclaimed, "Ruby was such a good baby -- she slept all day!" "Oh, oh," I thought, "guess this means she'll be a very bad baby tonight." And I was right, the kid cat-napped, but didn't sleep a wink, kept us up all night.

I wonder what would happen if the next time someone asks me if Ruby is a good baby I said "No, Ruby is a very, very bad baby." Don't you think those people would scrunch up their faces and scurry away, thinking they should report me to the bureau of bad mothers? So maybe what people are really wondering when they ask me if Ruby is a good baby, is really "Are you a good mother?" Because if I say Ruby is a good baby, then that means I've accepted this motherhood thing, the crying, the pooping, the peeing, the exhaustion and the delirium.

But you know, this mommy stuff is hard work, and something that no one can rightfully explain to you before you've had a child.I thought that after Ruby was born I'd strap her on to me like some exotic appendage and continue my life as I knew it, writing, reading, going to movies, seeing friends, and that I'd stash Ruby in the crib when it was time for me to get some work done. But having a newborn is like waking up in an alternate universe where everything you called your life is replaced with an endless routine of activities previously unknown to you; feeding, changing diapers, playing, feeding, diapers, more feeding, more diapers.

I think it's been one long day since that child was born. A friend who also has a baby said, "Don't you just love motherhood?" And I looked at my sweet child and said, "I love Ruby, but I don't know that I love motherhood."

I remember hearing new mothers moan, "Oh, I just can't get anything done!" And I'd think, "You wimp." But it's true. Everytime I look up it's 4 o clock already and where has the darn day gone? In my free time I find myself being frighteningly domestic. I try to get some laundry done or clean my room, sew a button or see about dinner. And if I actually get something done, I experience the most banal, senseless kind of happiness. One night as we watched Star Trek I turned to my husband and said, "Did you notice I cleaned the bathroom?" as if it were something worth talking about.

These days my motto is "grooving with the chaos." I'm trying to lighten up. So the next time you see me, don't ask if Ruby is a good baby. Ask me if she's had a good poop lately and then we'll have something to talk about.