Shock and Awwwwwww
Walking in public with Lydia strapped to my chest is now like walking around town with a small fusion reactor hooked to my shirt. Or a million-candlepower spotlight, or a small sun, shooting dazzling rays in every direction. Kate and I walked out with her Friday night; it was cool, so Lydia wore a pink sweater and a strawberry hat, both knitted by Kate. This was an unstoppable combination, as I learned when we reached the center of West Chester.
Saying that heads turned would be an understatement. Heads whipped around with painful, whiplash speed. Daughters nudged mothers, grandparents stopped dumbfounded, fiancees siezed the arms of fiances with painful, circulation-stopping grips. Look at the baby! Look at the baaaby! LOOK AT THE B-A-A-A-A-ABY! Lydia, equal to the task, responded with dazzling smiles, delighted with the reactions she’s getting. She plays them like a violin, does Lydia: dazzling smile, then a bashful blink and a turn to the side. “What, little old ME? Aww, shucks.” This is one skillful and dangerous baby.
Having Lydia strapped to my chest is like simultaneously being elevated to the celebrity of a rock star and being reduced to the faceless anonymity of a sedan chair bearer. But I’m getting conceited (how can you not?) when walking down the street. Like an emperor, all I see is faces in every direction, never backs. Ah, yes, a dog walker a hundred yards ahead. Wait for it, wait for it…
“Oh my GOD, what a cute baby!” (Grin! blink, blink, bashful turn)