The Baby Thieves

Of course, that morning I wasn’t there the moment she woke up, so the screaming began blaring out again. That was fine because we had to take the little girl to some rectal exams. First, we had to feed her. Olivia was above average in weight—not fat but certainly not thin. She obviously knew something about how good food could be, but finding something she would eat in our house just wasn’t happening. Cereal, eggs, toast with jam, breakfast bars, etc. were like exotic alien foods to her. She stared at them with interest but could not conceive of eating them. She finally nibbled on some untoasted bread and drank a little from a “sippy cup”. (A sippy cup is supposedly a transition between the bottle and regular cups, don’t let anyone fool you—it is a mere glorified baby bottle). Then we fumbled the baby into the straps of a car seat and were off to the doctor.
The doctor turned out to be a more or less thirty-year old woman with a few premature wrinkles spidering their way across the skin around her eyes. She was out on the side of the building having a tired, maybe this will revive me, cigarette. (Doctors aren’t supposed to do that)! A cold wind came out of the north and seemed to nudge her out of the ready-to-slip-into-comatose state. She hastily stubbed out the butt and opened the door for us as we entered the lobby. She exhaled and transformed herself from one world to another.
I tried explaining the county paperwork to the clerk, but Mary butted in and pointed to the appropriate and important sections. I went back to Olivia who by now seemed to bloom in a responsive smile whenever I looked at her and played around with her. Mary was taking over the paperwork grind while I was having beginners luck with a baby. Unfamiliar roles can be disarmingly and deceptively pleasant to fall into.
The waiting room was also a new experience for me. Once upon a time, during the slow plodding waiting room experience I had to have something to read. Now there was no question of having time to read. My job was to entertain and talk and hold and cuddle.
“Olivia Costas, Olivia Costas,” the receptionist’s voice sang out in monotone across the room. Quickly I fumbled around trying to grab Olivia and the diaper bag and the other bags. Mary tried to hide a smile, as she seemed to know everything we brought and everything a baby would need.
Olivia went into a rhythmic repeated series of squawks when we placed her in the cold metal oval shaped basin where the nurse weighed her, and then I held her feet for a moment while the nurse measured her. Then the doctor walked in and held out her arms. I stared numbly and uncomprehendingly as she explained, “You have to stay outside when we do this kind of examination.”
Of course, I thought. The notion of a fourteen month-old being examined for anal rape weighed on me like a strange burden, heavy and numbing and impossible to understand—far outside the realm of my immediate knowledge of the world.
These things happened in books but were no more real to me than an incident from far back in history–the Roman Empire maybe, but not World War Two. World War II seemed a lot more real than what was going on a few miles away from my house.
Olivia screamed as she was carried away, frantically reaching out, clawing the air for me as they disappeared behind the slamming door.
It was a little like being put to sleep for an operation and waking up, feeling like no time had passed at all. In an unreal instantaneous passage of time Olivia was back outside greedily attacking a doctor’s office lollipop and devouring it, reminding me of a creature that didn’t really chew its food but smashed it a few times in its teeth, swallowing and letting the internal organs to do the hard work. She was all right until she saw me, and then she started yelping again until my arms were around her. My wife occasionally sent me glances that were simultaneously surprised and amused and perhaps appraising of a new view of reality—like we had passed through some kind of looking glass and there was no looking back. What kind of fire had we jumped into? Were we going to dance around on the flames quickly, so quickly that our feet wouldn’t be burned? Would we convince ourselves that we liked it and wouldn’t have it any other way?
We tell ourselves things like that—kind of like the clerks at the stores during Christmas time with the twenty-seven cranky people in a line when they tell themselves, “I like it when it’s busy! The time passes faster when I’m busy!” Yeah, sure!
Was Olivia molested? The doctor couldn’t say one way or the other. The previous day one doctor said yes, and another said no. A neighbor reported their suspicions, and CPS had been called, the doctors had been consulted, and we were in a confusing swirling limbo. She had no idea what would happen. “She likes you, at least,” the doctor told me. “That’s a good thing.” Turning to my wife the doctor asked, “He’s had a lot of experience with babies, hasn’t he?” Mary stifled a laugh.
“I have a fourteen month old granddaughter,” my wife said. “He spoils her.” She laughed. “I do the work, and he has the fun.” She didn’t sound bitter, just amused, and I couldn’t figure out why. She was having the last laugh about something that hadn’t happened yet—it didn’t seem comprehensible; it didn’t seem fair.
The doctor knew what Mary was thinking, “He’ll get to experience that himself,” she said. She and Mary both looked at me, not exactly smirking. They were having a psychic moment.
At the grocery store I was damned if I was just going to buy Olivia candy, even if that was the only thing she was used to eating. In our house she was going to get some healthy food, doggone it. I was already thinking of the next step—the long haul. Olivia was going to get some nutritious food and I was picking out some good stuff. She would learn to love it.
So when we were back at our condo and my granddaughter in law was dropped off. Elizabeth didn’t have time to get jealous. Olivia got jealous first. They were the same age, but Olivia was bigger. I had a shock when they both wanted to play with the same toy and Olivia started to push her. Oh no! Elizabeth was my sweetheart whose original sin I blissfully denied, and nobody was pushing anybody! Olivia seemed shocked that I would tell her not to push, hit or kick—it was like telling her not to breathe. Time for her view of reality to change a little too. As a teacher I had seen students whose only social skill was confrontation. (How do I solve problems without beating the crap out of people!? That’s just how we survive, numbskull)! But with me ready to jump in and save Elizabeth, and Olivia getting tired of me looking over her shoulder they eventually began to play together. Elizabeth had been living in solitary splendor, the only child both at her home and in our house. The one shining light, the center of the universe—you get the picture. Everybody’s view of reality was getting a rude shake today. The world had changed in the blink of an eye, and there was a new heaven and a new earth—more importantly there were new rules for everybody. I didn’t quite grasp that yet, but I had all the time in the world for eye-opening revelation moments.