Last week I was walking to work, and three women and a baby passed me on the sidewalk.
The toddler was almost exactly Elliot’s age, a pixie-cut beauty who held her arms out to the side as she walked. The women were Manhattan Moms, dripping with Louis Vuitton and eating disorder.
Used to be, I couldn’t read this situation. Ten years ago --- or five years ago --- or, hell, 2.5 years ago --- I would have walked past without a glance. Ladies and babies, boring. Moms, daughters, friends, aunts, who knows?
But today was different. Today I saw layers.
The two year-old made a cooing sound as she toddled in front of the trio. One of the ladies said “She’s so adorable.”
So I instantly knew that was not the mom.
Am I trying to say that the kid was not adorable? Oh no. That lady was right, the kid was adorable. But a parent lets others compliment the kid. One down.
I glanced across the other two women. Which was the mom?
One was staring at her iPhone. Unlikely behavior for the mom of a toddler on a narrow Manhattan sidewalk. A toddler can veer into traffic in the time it takes to peruse 140 characters.
The other woman had her eyes lasered on that kid. But that wasn’t what convinced me she was the mom. It was the idiot grin spilled across her face. She was gazing at that toddler with a dreamy, thousand-yard stare.
I know that grin. I’ve worn that grin.
And then they were gone. How long does it take to zoom past someone walking the opposite direction on a sidewalk? Seconds, right? That’s the amount of time this interaction consumed.
(By the way, in re: my previous post on assessing women’s childbirthing histories: I’m pretty sure the one who said “She’s adorable” was childless. I won’t go into details, but it had something to do with the tight-lipped, approval-seeking way she glanced over at the mom as she spoke the words. Not sure about the uteral status of the one looking at her iPhone.)
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