The local auntie’s scathing, judgmental look says it all. She doesn’t just give me a passing glare, she repeatedly turns around and glowers at me just so I know it’s me she wants to glower at.
We’re in Times Square, Causeway Bay, and Rockstar has done what he always does in shopping centers – insist on riding the escalator by himself. Now exactly 2 ½, he walked early and has insisted on getting onto escalators, lifts and taxis, and opening heavy doors without my help. He’ll even throw me a suspicious look if he pushes open a heavy swinging door too easily. He’s after that sense of achievement at accomplishing stuff on his own. My son is now a sense of achievement junkee.
Making sure he’s not being followed too closely down the escalator (if you get too close he starts running)
Not that my heart doesn’t flutter every time he steps on an escalator – but we have a deal. If he ever so much as stumbles near an escalator, his solo-riding privileges will be revoked. He’s so desperate to retain his freedom he does it all with infinite care and concentration. And has never given me any excuse to tighten the reins. Not to mention it’s improving his coordination by leaps and bounds because he’s trying so hard. In fact, he’s far more accident prone when he’s bent on keeping me from interfering. So GlaMum will just have to carry on digging her nails into her palms and shutting up.
But every time we hit Causeway Bay, we encounter The Judgmental Auntie. Sometimes she actually confronts me. Rudely, I might add. I bristle and get defensive, like I’ve been accused of being Britney Spears. Like I have to work extra hard to prove my parenting ability. Then I swallow it and pretend I don’t understand their Cantonese. It certainly shortens the encounter – today’s JA has overheard me speaking to him in English and doesn’t even attempt to engage me – but it doesn’t stop her clucking directly at Rockstar. Both GlaMum and Rockstar are getting pretty good at pretending we don’t understand what they’re saying.
Sorry – don’t speaka da language.
The JA really gets under my skin. The JA is often the advocate for old traditional confinement nanny practices (some of which are cavalier about sterilizing), over-the-top fear of dogs around babies and any other number of old beliefs and practices that never cease to annoy me. Don’t get me wrong – I had a confinement nanny, even when my gynea Dr Liang Shuk Tak doesn’t agree with them (she says they make her job harder because of said unsanitary practices), but we made her sterilize stuff and use hot water and baby-safe soaps (she was mildly offended). Fearing she was “out-of-touch,” my own mother took it into her head to enroll for refresher courses in childcare in the 6 months before taking her turn at caring for Rockstar.
“Starbucks run” at the end of our shopping trip – he ate only the chocolate chips. And not even that many of them.
Therein lies my true gripe with the JA. Her arrogance that her voice of experience is naturally the voice of wisdom and her refusal to be open to the possibility that maybe, maybe there has evolved a better way to bring up a child. Experience plus new discoveries adjusted to child’s personality should be the way to go. But try explaining that to your average JA.
Those who are arrogant will never go as far as those who are humble enough to be open to a better way of doing things. And that applies to pretty much anything.
