For Betty...

Of the hundreds of things that I didn’t expect about becoming a parent, one of the most unexpected was the insane degree to which other children would be attracted to my son. Some of these children we know; others we don’t. Such as the little, pig-tailed girl in Walmart, who peeked her smiling face inside my two-month old’s stroller, and then subsequently sneezed on him. Luckily, her mother was there to lead her away, or she and I would still be going rounds. Similarly, it seems that nowadays church not only functions as a time of worship, but it’s also the perfect storm for children swarming around Suttie’s face, hands, feet, and any other body part they can manage to get a hold of. It’s really rather cannibalistic as he becomes an object for consumption, helping them to realize one of their playtime fantasies…a doll come to life. For instance, my goddaughter, Katie, whom I love dearly, will come up to me with arms outstretched, silently and expectantly awaiting the handoff of “Bobby Tut Tut” as if saying, “I’ll take him; I know you need a break.” The poor dear doesn’t realize that her 30-pound frame would be instantly toppled over by his 20 pounds of mass.

And then there’s the sweet as pie, six-year-old girl, Colleen. She’s the kind of little girl you’d want to have if you had a little girl…possibly with one exception. She’s obsessed with my son. There’s no other word for it. She no longer sits with her parents during the service; she sits with my husband and me so that she will never be more than two-inches away from “Baby Suttie.” As the preacher works his way through the requisite prayers and affirmations, Colleen will sit quietly (well, as quietly as she can) and lovingly rub her face all over Suttie’s head, cheeks, and hair. This is her Nirvana. She is always careful to ask me for permission before kissing him, an act that I appreciate and am still shocked by. She also apparently has a sixth sense regarding my son’s needs and desires, which she exhibited the other day by telling me, “I feel that he wants me to hold him.” Not having a similar telepathic connection to him, I kindly obliged. Her little sister, Kaitlyn, is fast developing a powerful draw to Suttie as well. At a luncheon meeting after church yesterday, she covered him with a healthy coating of lemon bundt cake crumbs while tirelessly rubbing his face and head. For the rest of the day, it made kissing him a delicious treat.

So, at this point, you might be asking, “Well, Kate…what does all this have to do with today’s events?” Well, I’ll tell you. Today, Suttie took his first trip to the post office. At first, it was a very uneventful trip. He sat in his carrier on the floor, while I stood at the counter, filling out the necessary addresses and paying for the always elevating postage. Then, a mother and her son came in. Within seconds, the little boy, who appeared to be about four years old, was pushing back the sunshade of Suttie’s carrier and delivering kisses to his face and forehead. Please bear in mind that I do not know, nor have I ever known this overly friendly child who has a blatant disregard for personal space. But his interest didn’t stop there. He then noticed that Suttie’s pacifier was hanging loosely from his passy clip. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about children, it’s that they cannot stand for a pacifier to go unused. So, Mr. Too Friendly picked up the passy and tried to put it into Suttie’s mouth. As any well reasoning individual might have figured out from the fact that it wasn’t in his mouth to begin with, Suttie didn’t want the pacifier. So, the little boy starts yelling at him, “OPEN YOUR MOUTH! OPEN YOUR MOUTH!” as if delivering vital commands over a loudspeaker. During this time, Suttie had worked his still developing facial muscles into a menacing scowl and was clearly wishing that he had full control of his limbs so that he could rain down a world of hurt on the unsuspecting boy. Thankfully, the child’s mother, who stood laughing the entire time her son was molesting mine, had completed her transaction and was now ready to leave. As I watched them exit the building and walk slowly toward the parking lot, visions of sexual harassment lawsuits floated before my eyes, and I realized that Suttie was perhaps the first in a string of victims that would culminate with poor Betty So-and-so in the stockroom of some second rate Applebee’s. Speaking of, it’s time for dinner.