People, generally strangers, like to tell me, "Oh, she's such a good baby."
This was particularly noticeable with our eight hour "adventure" at La Guardia airport a few weeks ago, waiting for the snow to stop so that we could fly to Florida (why we ever came home to winter is an open question).
Calliope was certainly a trooper. To be fair, she loved being at the airport. Sleeping all day and evening in the Beco against Mommy's chest, then coming out for breastfeeding and to gaze in awe at all the faces and lights... well, what could be better?
I am very lucky to have an easy going baby. For sure. And I am grateful. Exceedingly so.
BUT. I hate the parlance "a good baby" because her worth does not depend, at all, on how gracefully she handles the shit the world dishes out. I do not want to have a child that smiles and says nothing if something is amiss. (To be sure, this does not happen so far. She is sure to complain against maltreatment such as being removed from the bathtub, well, ever.) I do not want to raise a little girl, and later woman, who is praised for keeping her mouth shut.
So what a darling baby? Yes. What a beautiful baby? Yes, although I'd rather not be all about her appearance. What a charming baby? Sure!
But what a good baby?
Nah. She's not such a good baby.