Babies

I come to notice babies as I am sat on the bus. I become slowly surrounded. The first one I can only describe as a scally baby dressed up like a Christmas tree by her scally mum. Decorated with rolled gold chains, and earrings and a finger ring so small that it can an ear cuff because no one seriously makes rings for children with barely a years growth of hair. Right? However, she is plucky and plays to the bus audience and blows kisses to a lad in a tracksuit, his ear bruised and knuckles scabbed from last weeks drunken ruck, no doubt. He returns the gesture. I think “this is the most surreal thing I have seen all week” but then dismiss it, for surely they are kindred spirits. There is an understanding that they will share the same destiny.

A few stops down another young mum alights and parks her child in front of me. Her baby, is just a baby. Without pretension. A baby dressed as a baby. But given the right opportunity, if they were sat next to each other I imagine that they would be friends, without prejudice. This imagine this sentiment is extended when the young mum shares a look with scally mum and her babe and smiles. It is a smile dripping in shared pride, a pride only known by mothers. Or maybe I misjudge it as comparative pride, a “my baby is better than yours” look.

Whilst I notice all this, the child in front of me stares big blues at me. I do my usual raised eyebrow and smile slight and then try to avert my eyes. The baby looks on, unaware of the etiquette regarding staring at strangers on public transport. I wonder why that is? Why is it so uncomfortable to hold eye contact with a stranger for more than a few seconds. What is that? Is every gaze loaded with judgement? If I stare at this baby for too long what will happen? What will be judged? Because we all do it. Staring in judgement on the bling baby, the battered lad, the scally mum, the mouthy drunk, the ogre like security guard, the promiscuous divorced administrator, the uptight business man ashamed to take the bus, the bespectacled nutter eyeballing babies and making notes in a pukka pad like some kind of twisted trainspotter.