So I got The Princess all dressed up in red, white and blue, threw a camera in the stroller and headed to the polls. I pictured her helping me pull the lever, smiling as she began to absorb the joys of democracy at age 14 months.
One hour and one long line later, this was reality: It all began with the woman in line in front of us who innocently peeled a banana -- only The Princess' current favorite food. "Mamamamamamama," she intoned, her all-purpose word for wanting something, though never actually for her mother. "No, sweetie, that's not your banana."
Louder now, "MAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" Wheeling her about-face so she could no longer see the banana, she could now see me. Her arms shoot out. "Up?" "No sweetie, you need to stay in your stroller." "UP?" I notice she has pulled off her socks. "How about we put those back on?" as I bend over and start that task. Oh dear. Kicking, some yelling. Dirty looks from the metrosexuals behind me.
"OK, let me hold you." Begin wrestling match. The Princess must, simply must, now crawl. She is squirming and screaming. I, becoming the mother I never was supposed to be, give in. Now my barefoot daughter is shooting past the line of voters out the front door of the courthouse. Her hands and knees are already black with dirt. The old couple who lives upstairs gives me a very disapproving look. I turn to a friend and fellow mother to see her 14-month old, he of the head of JFK hair already, standing and peacefully eating goldfish crackers and watching my bald-headed wonder (who with only eight teeth can't even imagine the joys of goldfish crackers) bolt outside, me trying to stroll along and smile as if to say, "Eh, we do this barefoot-crawling in dirty public places all the time. She really loves it."
Finally, when it is finally almost my turn, I scoop her up. The real screams begin. Her foot is somehow in my bra and she is climbing over my head in a vain effort to go the other direction. I smile. There is just no way I can leave now.
Then, our nanny arrives. I am thankful she is there to relieve me. I am also somewhat shamefaced I couldn't handle this by myself. I go into the booth and feel relief to be away from the inquiring eyes of all my precinct neighbors. I hold my head in my hands for a minute and try to regain composure. I vote alone. I hope I pulled the right levers.
Fantastic. I laughed heartily at that one. My guy is 8 months old (totally bald and just starting his two front teeth, no goldfish for us either) and I took him to watch the wonders of democracy in action as well. Daddy's not a citizen (thank goodness due to his totally wrong -- er, right -- political leanings) so it was up to me to teach our new son about the importance of voting. Into the booth we go, all ready to show him how its done, he grabs the side of the booth, gives it a good pull (while I'm busy setting up the card in the little machine), and down goes our booth, crashing into that of the voter next-door and earning looks of disapproval from my fellow voters (most of whom were also probably right leaning due to my voting district and unhappy about an obviously educated, young, forward thinking mother asserting her vote in the first place). So, don't feel alone, and by next time around that child's going to be out campaigning with me, so he'll be an old pro by the time we enter the booth.
Posted by: Nicola | November 18, 2004 at 05:20 PM