I grew up with some strange ideas, which I didn’t know were strange because it was the 1950s and there was no Internet and I had no siblings to set me straight.
For example: I believed in the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, in “He loves me. He loves me not,” in wishing on stars and not stepping on cracks and in a perpetually lost-at-sea ship, which I knew was laden with diamonds and furs because didn’t my mother always say, “Someday, when my ship comes in.”
Prayers and wishes. I trusted in the power of both.
I spent countless afternoons at a stream not far from my house waiting for a baby to float by to take home to my mother. She wanted a baby and I knew where they came from. Babies were brought in one of two ways: like Moses, floating down a river in a basket, or like Dumbo, dangling in the air from a stork’s bill.
My 3-year-old grandson knows more than I did when I was 10. That’s how much times have changed. A few weeks ago Adam attended a sibling class to help prepare him for the birth of his new “girl baby.” But even before he stepped into a room full of toddlers cradling anatomically correct dolls, he knew where babies come from.
All little kids do. “Where’s your new baby right now?” the instructor asked nearly a dozen 2- and 3-year-olds. And they all pointed to their mothers' bellies.
I was in fourth grade when Mrs. Lyons, who lived across the street, started looking big around the middle. I was watching her from the window one day as she was hanging laundry.
“Why is Mrs. Lyon’s belly growing?” I asked my mother.
“Because she swallowed a watermelon seed,” my mother said.
And I believed her.
Not a single toddler in Adam’s sibling class would have fallen for this.
They sat around in a big circle looking surprisingly attentive and mature while the instructor told them to never, never, never, never put anything – even Cheerios – in their baby’s mouths. “Why can’t babies eat what you eat?” the instructor asked, smiling and pointing to her teeth. “Because babies don’t have…?”
And the children yelled “TEETH!” and the instructor clapped and said, “Good job!”
Then it was on to “What do babies who don’t have teeth eat?” And the instructor held up a bottle and the children shouted “MILK!”
Then the instructor explained that you never put anything over your new baby’s face “because then your baby couldn’t breathe.” And you never pick up your new baby “unless your mommy and daddy are helping you.” “And you hold your new baby like this,” she said, demonstrating with a bald-headed plastic girl doll.
And all the children, cradling their dolls, attempted to do the same.
On a big screen appeared pictures of real new babies, eating and sleeping and, well, eating and sleeping. Then it was off for a ride up the elevator to the nursery to see a real new baby!
The toddlers were unimpressed. The real new baby was behind glass. The parents oohed and aahed but all the little kids wanted was to get back on the elevator, then have snacks.
My daughter and I tried to talk about the new baby on the drive home. But Adam would have none of it. He was focused on his birthday cake. “I want Auntie to make a Dora cake, a Diego cake and a Swiper cake,” he announced.
“But you get just one birthday cake,” we told him.
“No. No. No.” he insisted. “I get three cakes because I’m three!”
This is how he reasons. And it makes sense. But it also makes you realize that children connect the dots in very different ways.
Which explains why when a new baby arrives, some toddlers may cry and some toddlers may pout and some toddlers may say things like, “I don’t like him. Take him back!”
It’s not because they weren’t paying attention in class.
It’s because they are only 2 and 3, babies still. And they may talk well and they may mimic. But the meaning of words like “sister” and “brother,” and “here to stay” — the significance of these words — is years beyond their grasp.
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