The Mamies of Montmartre

For the first few months of Colette's life I was nervous about leaving the house. I would hover above the changing table hesitating about what she should wear. The long sleeved onsie or the short sleeved one? Pants? Socks? The wooly hat or the sun bonnet? Would she be too hot? Too cold? I would end up  jamming several additional and almost always unnecessary accessories into my purse then finally head out the door.

One might attribute these jitters to new-mommy-syndrome and concern about the well being of my new baby but in fact it was a fear based reaction to the glaring (thus caring) grannies of Montmartre. My neighborhood is a mecca for old people. Lord only knows why, considering that there are more steep slopes, craggily cobblestones and steps in our part of town than in any other arrondissement, but be that as it may, Montmartre is packed with Mamies, Grannies. The Mamies of Montmartre have appointed themselves as the monitors of safety. They roam the streets, markets and parks looking for unsuspecting young mothers who may have misjudge the meteorological micro-climate of Montmartre or underestimated the infinitely delicate nature of their child's tender neck skin, and they pounce.

I was attacked once while doing my shopping. There we were, Coco in her sling and I looking over the selection of oranges at the vegetable stand when out of the corner of my I a see a sweet old lady saddling up to us. It all starts off well, she brushes Coco's cheek with her nobly finger and tells me what a beautiful child I have made. But after a few minutes of cooing and ooing and ahhing she strikes, "Bit of a breeze today [raises her eyebrows and sighs as she looks disapprovingly at Coco's obviously too thin cotton onesie] don't you find it breezy?"With her one sing-songy question she clearly called into question my ability to parent and alerted all other grannies with in earshot to the problem.



Mamie number two, who was minding her own business near the lettuces, heard the alert mamie number one set off and hobbled over to supply back up. She took things to the next level by addressing Coco directly, "Oh yes my little cabbage, I bet those arms are as cold as can be! Your mommy really should have planned ahead for these weather conditions." NOTE: It was August. It was sunny and 75. Yes, there was a slight breeze. Now cornered in the stall I saw no way out. It was early days so I did not have a sweatshirt, sunscreen, scarf, and tank-top stuffed into my purse, so against my honest opinion which was that it was not in fact breezy enough to warrant a sweater, I agreed with them. "Mmm. Oui. It IS a little breezy. Come on Coco let's get these oranges and head back home where it's nice and warm." Score one team mamie.

For months the sweet-sour voices of the Mamies of Montmartre would ring in my ears: "Ohh petit amour you look hot in there!" "Oh oh oh you are so cute but your mother doesn't love you very much otherwise she wouldn't leave your little head exposed to the sun now would she?" "Mmm what a little darling she is. Isn't she cold? You know we are in September now." "What an adorable hat, too bad it doesn't cover her pretty little ears."

I took weeks of trying to answer the question "But what will mamie say?" before I finally figured out that there is no pleasing them. No need to keep score. Team Mary will never win. It is just as likely that I am going to be scolded for having Coco in too many layers as it it that I am going to be chided for exposing her to the cold. So now when I leave the house I simply dress her as well as I can and hope for the best.