Can't you take that child OUT?

Easter Mass was probably the most awkward and frustrating service I've been to since Jack's baptism, when he produced the largest poop in the history of babies mere minutes before he was supposed to be dunked in the water. Ever changed a blowout in the pew, right under the priest's nose?

Phillip was playing saxaphone with the choir and assorted just-for-Easter musicians which meant I was left to wrangle the boy alone. Phillip also had to be at church an entire hour early, right during prime napping time. We were off the hook for driving our neighbor to church since her daughter was supposed to pick her up, so we decided that we'd all get ready early, drop Phillip off and I would cross my fingers and hope that Jack slept in the car until it was time to go to church. Easy peasy.

So we got ready. I discovered that we were all wearing the same colors (baby blue and brown) which always makes me think of this couple who goes to my grandmother's church. I swear, the wife has bought the husband a tie to match every dress she owns. Anyway, I thought about insisting we change, except that Jack's outfit was bought especially for Easter and mine was the only thing that fit me in my closet and Phillip isn't really amenable to those kinds of suggestions. Oh well.

Oh, and then my neighbor called and oops, for some reason her daughter isn't going to pick her up in time to make it to Mass, could she snag a ride? Quick thinker that I am, I decided we'd follow the plan, but I'd just swing by and pick up our neighbor as I was driving around with my sleeping baby.

This was all going to work, right?

Jack was still awake when I dropped Phillip off, but drifted off as soon as I got on the highway. We drove north, in the ugly nasty so-unlike-Easter rain, and I was terribly proud of myself for pulling off the Happy Baby for Easter Plan. Then I noticed that we were low on gas. Like, really low. And when you have a car that only drinks diesel, it's fairly important to be near a gas station with diesel gas*. I pulled off the highway and prayed that Jack wouldn't wake up.

Weeeelll, the second I turned off the engine his eyes fluttered open AND NEVER SHUT AGAIN.

I still had half an hour to go. I hoped he'd fall back asleep if I got back on the freeway, but he wasn't interested. He was still awake when I swung by our neighbor's house. And he was wide awake while I yanked him and our assorted luggage out of the car and into the church.

WHICH WAS SO CROWDED. I mean, dude. I go to church every Sunday. Maybe I should let everyone else have Easter. They need it more than me, right? My neighbor was instructed to save seats for her daughter and son-in-law, so she snagged an open area and I snagged the next one. Me, the boy, my purse and the diaper bag. Plus our coats (the rain!) and the stuffed puppy and the pacifier. I'd forgotten the tub of Cheerios in the car. BAD MOVE, MAGGIE.

He was cute for all of ten minutes, and then the Whining began. The flailing. The back arching. The put! me! down! ing. Thank God some good friends and their baby sneaked into the pew next to me. I was trying to so hard to make sure my son was not annoying the crap out of the strange man next to me that it was a relief to have friendly baby people on the other side. And you know, my kid is no six pound weakling anymore. He's on the low end of the growth charts, but that doesn't mean he's like holding a spring daffodil for two hours (two! hours!) during Easter morning Mass.

He kicked his feet against the pew in front of us.  He pulled all the offering envelopes out of the wooden holder. He tried to pull down the kneeler. He tried to WALK DOWN THE PEW. He threw his stuffed puppy on the floor, along with the bulletin and the worship aid and his bottle. He wasn't too noisy, but I do believe I got my very first Dirty Look. It's entirely possible I misinterpreted, but still. I felt about four years old.

Jack wasn't even that bad. He was an overtired baby stuck in a crowded cramped spot for two hours (two! hours!). But by the time the service ended I was beat. I said my zillionth prayer for single parents. I resolved never to let Phillip join the choir on a permanent basis. I threw our boy Phillip's way and napped all the way to grandma's house.

I have grown up listening to my mother and grandmother decry the myriad of despicable ways people allow their children to behave in church. I have been dreading- DREADING- my very first Dirty Look. I try pretty hard to keep him happy and quiet during Mass, which means I never know what's going on and could not tell you what the homily was about to save my life. But I feel like that's the way it is right now. I'm not going to send him to the nursery- I want him to know that we do church on Sunday mornings, not playtime. I'm not above stuffing him with snacks the whole time or bringing books and markers and other Keep Quiet methods, but he's too little for all of that right now. Right now all he wants is to GET DOWN and EXPLORE and I can't let him do that. At least, not under the feet of the strange man sitting next to us.

During the kiss of peace the strange man stuck out his hand for Jack to shake and gave him the most brilliant smile. At least not everyone is dusting off their Dirty Looks.

*Biodiesel, what our car normally drinks, is $4.50 per gallon. We don't love the earth THAT much. 

Comments

[Jen]

Eh, everyone's baby gets a dirty look in church at some point. Once, at my church, a woman was giving a talk about how her husband died three days after their son was born. There was a baby fussing in the back of church the whole time and everyone was giving dirty looks to the woman who didn't take the baby out. Well, the woman finished her speech and walked back to HER fussing baby. Everyone felt so guilty! (Not me. I don't give dirty looks, I taught daycare, I give understanding smiles.)

[Kate P]

Pulled out all the envelopes? I think you just explained why ours are tucked in a shelf in the vestibule. Too bad they didn't have any back-up Cheerios in there for you.

I think you two did great. My dad has been a church organist since before he met my mom, so it was rare to have him in the pew with us. Sometimes I don't know how Mom handled us three kids by herself every week. One tip she'd probably give you is don't go to Holy Communion and leave your three-year-old (me) in the pew alone with a giant black umbrella. That umbrella *will* go up, all the little old widows *will* clutch their rosaries in horror, and you *will* want to slink out of church.

[Annie]

I hear ya on loving the earth. We're the same way.

Isn't going to Mass (especially one of the twice-yearly Masses that people actually attend) alone the HARDEST THING EVER? I know what you mean about praying for the single parents. I don't know how they do it. Every week we sit in the same pew with the following people: Christopher (now 18 months), me, my husband, my sister-in-law, and my mother & father-in-law and there are STILL weekends (read: nearly every weekend) when I feel like we don't have enough hands on deck. It's brutal. You know, we live right across the street from our church, which gives me absolutely no excuse not to get to daily mass....except, of course, that it would just be me and the boy. I'm pretty confident that we'd spend all of our time in the entry way carrying around the collection baskets, and frankly, I don't think that really counts toward Mass attendance. It will get better, Maggie. When? I'll have to let you know when we've gotten there, so you know what to look forward to! Of course, by that time, we'll both have two and it will be back to square one!

[Christina]

My kids never (ever!) nap when I want them too... one of Murphy's laws, I think. I hardly heard a sermon the first year of each of my kids' lives, we just hung out in the nursery because I couldn't keep them quiet in the service. But more power to you for trying!

[Lisa]

I am with you on keeping kids in church because it's not like they are going to learn how to behave in church if you keep them in the nursery until they are old enough to be REALLY hard to handle in church.

Olivia was doing pretty much the same thing on Sunday. Thank goodness our Mass was only an hour. But we go to the smallest parish in the world, and everyone in a 15-mile radius decided to show up for church that day, so there was nowhere to go when she started in on her fussy routine. I couldn't resort to the usually adequate baby-entertaining move of pacing the back of church because it was crammed with folding chairs and standing people. *Sigh*