When Strangers Baby-Talk Your Kid (And You Wanna Disappear Into a pack of Oreos)

FAMILY IN THEORY & PRACTICE

The Parenting Commandments

Volume 1: Concerning the Babble and the False Tongue

In the House of Crow and White, we don’t perform for gold stars anymore.
We honor the god in the child.
(But uh, trust me — we didn’t start there.)

It happened one fateful day at the Great Market:

The Little One — my tiny overlord — marched down the sacred aisles.
One tomato in his fist.
One truck clutched like a holy relic.
Chanting the ancient spells of "Vroom Vroom" and "MINE."

A king.
A legend.
A baby tornado on a mission.

And then?

They came.

The Strangers.

Faces stretched into sticky-sweet cartoon grins.
Voices twisted into helium babble like they’d inhaled three party balloons and a bottle of corn syrup.

"Ooooh, what a wittle teeny baby boo-boo snuggle monkey!!"

My kid — my sacred, serious child — clutched his tomato tighter.
His truck tighter.
Glared into the void like a war general spotting enemy troops.

No smile.
No wave.
He didn’t even blink.

Just a calm, fierce No.

And listen: a better woman might have clapped.
A stronger woman might have nodded wisely and said, "Yes, my son. Protect your sovereign field."

But me?

I panicked.

I flashed a nervous smile like a hostage on a ransom video.
I babbled an apology with my eyes.
I almost — almost — nudged him to wave.

Because deep in my lizard brain, I heard it:
"If your kid doesn’t perform, you look rude."
"If they don’t act 'sweet,' you’re failing at parenting."

And baby crow, that's when it hit me:

I was the problem.

I wasn’t defending his sovereignty.
I was ready to sell it for a gold star from a stranger holding a breadstick?

🪶 Real Talk: How I Played Myself

Here’s the truth:
When my son was born, I didn’t arrive fully woke and crow-feathered.

I started out just like everybody else:

• Baby-talking like I was auditioning for the Muppets.

• Cheering for every crumb he dropped into a bowl.

• Handing out gold stars like Halloween candy for “good” behavior.

Why?
Because that’s what I thought parenting was.
Perform. Smile. Please adults. Get rewarded. Repeat.

And guess what?

It didn’t work.

Because this kid —
this feral, wonderful, tomato-wielding crow-child —
saw through it.

He didn’t perform for approval.
He didn’t fake-smile to make strangers feel better.
He didn’t turn into a party trick for adult egos.

He just kept being real.

And slowly, one mortifying grocery store moment at a time,
he taught me to stop being fake too.

🖤 Science Corner for the Overthinkers (Like Me)

• Babies prefer real speech over weird babble.

• By nine months old, they can smell fake sweetness like a hawk smells fear.

• Attachment and trust are built on real, grounded energy — not tap-dance performances.

Every time I squeezed my voice into a cartoon to "win" him?
Every time I got embarrassed when he didn’t "perform nicely"?

I was asking him to abandon his truth to make adults comfortable.

Not anymore.

✍️ Journal Prompts (aka, Self-Drag Exercises)

• When do I feel pressured to make my kid perform?

• What does fake sweet talk feel like inside my own body?

• Would I talk to my 90-year-old grandma in that voice?

• Why was I about to throw my toddler under the bus to impress Susan in Produce?

🕯️ Mantras to Mumble While Pretending to Pick Good Avocados

• "My kid’s soul is not for sale."

• "Real love doesn’t need a tap dance."

• "Strangers can deal with their own weirdness."

🎯 FAQ (Featherbrain Anxiety Questions)

Q: Isn’t baby-talking harmless?
A: Sometimes. But most fake babble isn't real play. It's about the adult feeling good. Kids know the difference. Crow-children know when you're wearing a mask.

Q: Should I tackle anyone who fake-talks at my child?
A: Please do not initiate a Walmart brawl. Give them a chance to have this experience, but be a safe place for them. Step in if you need to, otherwise, let them feel it. Do what though must.

Shield your kid’s energy like a sacred flame.

Q: What if people get mad my kid doesn’t wave?
A: Bless their heart. Smile and redirect.
Then whisper to your child:
"You don’t owe your smile to anyone. Ever."

Closing Blessing (Because We’re Holy Even When We’re Awkward)

"May your voice be strong enough to speak real words.
May your silence be deep enough to honor real feelings.
And may you always kneel before the real,
even if aisle seven is a battlefield of awkwardness."

93, little storm-makers.

And if you see me in the store, clutching a tomato and silently pleading with my toddler not to suplex a cantaloupe?

Mind your business.
I’m doing sacred work.
🖤