unsolicited

The buka gets lots of attention wherever we go. Everybody has to hold her little hand or touch her little cheek. That really bothers some mothers. It doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is that all the attention she gets has to come with an equal measure of commentary for me.

It usually has to do with the buka being cold. For the record, I sincerely believe the buka has never been cold a day in her life. Look how red she is, said one lady, maybe she’s cold. She’s red because she’s hot, I answered, snuggling her up against my wool sweater in the frontpack baby carrier thing. There was no chance she’d be cold in there, and most of the time, we both come home in it sweating.

Her eyes are so bright! said the supermarket lady, whose daughter is roughly the same age as the buka. They’ll turn darker when you stop nursing. What does that have to do with it? I asked. They all have bright blue eyes while they’re nursing, she said. Okay.

She can’t see anything, but I love babies, said a man last week.

Her hands are small and HARD! And STICKY! says my friend’s three-year-old.

Even the pediatrician has given me an earful. I may not be Greek, she’s told me twice now, but the buka is, and she’s going to have trouble adjusting to life in Greece if I keep the house too quiet.

The real winners come from the woman. She doesn’t like the buka’s clothes; they’re either too much or not enough or too tight or too loose. She can’t understand, she tells me repeatedly, why I feed the buka before her bath, and not after. That’s not what I remember, she says, every single time. Her latest theory is that the buka cries because she can’t pee. What does that mean? I shouted, finally losing my patience. Are you saying she has a UTI?! The woman backed down a little, but she had to get the last word. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it, she said.