I’m a dad. I’ve got a wonderful wife and together we have a very adorable little son. He’s got ten toes and a cute face and beautiful eyes (like his mom) and a heart-melting smile. But he’s not the baby I’m talking about. No, I’m talking about his “baby,” a little doll that was used once for an acting project by a friend of mine and donated as a toy to my child long ago. At the time he was too little to even play with a mobile (he couldn’t even focus his eyes on it way back then), but as time went on and he became smarter and bigger his interest naturally shifted to other people like him. Smaller people. “Babies,” as he calls them.
As we try to keep his toys out of a state of chaos we had sort of organized them into groupings of interest and skill. The toys that required complex maneuverings on his part were largely tucked away inside his closet until his little hands could grip them. Somewhere in this process the doll was lost, hidden behind a box and under a book and a blanket, until one day it was miraculously discovered. On that day our son’s eyes were magically glued to this little representation of a person. “Baby,” he asked inquisitively but full of wonder and excitement. “Yes. Baby,” we replied.
Over the next week or so he had to learn how to be nice to his baby. He shouldn’t just drop the baby on the ground but rather gently place the baby on the ground. What eventually became surprising was that he ended up, once he understood the concept, treating the baby like we treated him. Soon enough he was feeding the baby, putting the babies head gently on a pillow and covering up to the neck with a blanket, rocking the baby back and forth in his arms. I’ll end with this: parenting is important; I just witnessed the proof.