GUATEMALA - BABIES by William Hartel

Babies! We Got Babies. Come and Get Them
Guatemala is known for two things in this country – its rich Mayan heritage and babies…. Yes, many countries export food, petroleum, natural resources, etc. Guatemala exports babies… to affluent white Americans who, for some reason, want to raise a child who will almost certainly be the shortest kid in school.

On my plane departing Guatemala, there were 5 adoptive families. Ten “New Parents” with their five adopted” New Babies.” Of the 5 babies, 4 were girls, all dark skinned about 6 months of age, and a boy of about 18 months with a dazed and confused look on his face. These “InstaFamiles” stood out from the other passengers – they all carried pristine baby gear, much of it designed to withstand months in the back country or perhaps an Everest trek. There was a certain air of electricity about them – almost a halo. The New Moms and New Dads beamed with energy and enthusiasm they won’t have again for at least twenty years… All of the American adopters were over weight and I could not help but wonder how long it will be until these tiny infants would meet the official definition of “obese.” A year? Two? At that point they will be 70% for height but 95% for weight. “Look Jim, Nichole is already at the top of her class! I’m so proud!”

My eyes fall to one particular New Family across the row. New Mom looks exhausted –whew!. Three days of parenting can really drain a person. New Baby is fussing while New Dad is waving a toy in her face. Shaking might better describe the motion. He looks like he is playing a maraca. I wanted to say “slow it down a tad, pops. If she could focus on the toy for more than millisecond maybe she could see it,” but I didn’t. I know I hated getting unsolicited advice when I was New Dad and I held my thoughts.

New Mom hands New Baby to New Dad and she begins searching frantically in the infinite pockets of the shiny diaper bag. Must! Find! Bottle! When she finally locates the bottle and formula, she mixes it with the perfection of a pharmacist. I’m certain she is counting the number of shakes to mix it just so. She hand New Dad the bottle, encouraging him to feed New Baby. He hunches over the tiny being and slowly steers the nipple toward the gaping hole that is her mouth. He is rigid, his expression complex. Is he concerned? Nervous? ...No, he is not breathing. His forehead turns red before he remembers to draw a breath. New Mom, meanwhile, is applying make up, a task made more difficult because of the frown she has on her face because New Dad is not comforting New Baby properly. Her tiny arms flail, knocking New Mom’s mascara to the floor which prompts a stern look on New Mom’s face, a look New Baby has probably never seen before. New Baby lets out a wail that could be heard on the ground 6 miles below us. New Dad relinquishes New Baby to New Mom, revealing the lettering on his tee shirt. “No Fear.” I snicker to myself – if there is one emotion which defines first time parents it is fear. Best of luck to him, I think to myself – should have gotten a puppy.

Out come the chunky books with a single word and drawing on each page – “dog,” ball,” “cow.” There is an entirely new language for New Baby to master and they intend to get down to business. If they do it right, perhaps they could have her reading before we land in 4 hours. But, as with the toy, dad is flipping the page as fast as he reads each word rather than at the speed New Baby can even focus her eyes on the picture. 

Ok, bottle down, book done, now it is time for… The Changing of the Diaper. Brand new diaper pad spread across Mom’s knees followed by a Pamper about the same size as an index card. Then New Parents realize they must have missed a page in the owner’s manual. Do New Baby’s private parts face the window or the aisle when changing on a plane? It is decided (by New Mom, I am sure) that privates face the window. This decision requires a change of seats, a challenge on any airline, but particularly so for portly parents in coach. The diaper change is made with precision – the action reminds me of battlefield surgeons attending a wounded soldier. I am then overwhelmed by the smell of antiseptic lotion (also reminds me of a surgical suite) as New Dad scrubs away any trace of New Baby’s fluids from his hands. The entire operation took no more than 4 minutes and I was so impressed I wanted to give the man a high five. Then I realized that my hands are not sterile and they would never permit germs near their child. I dismiss the thought. I am exhausted just watching them raise their child and it has only been 35 minutes. 

Approximately halfway through the flight there is more activity across the aisle. It is time for Outfit Change. I wonder why… what was wrong with the old one? Was it dirty? Had it gone out of style since we departed? The new outfit is a powder blue soft knit, a far cry from the colorful dress she wore every day for her entire short life. As New Parents redress their precious bundle of joy, I wonder if they realize that the Baby Gap outfit they are stuffing their New Baby into was, in all likelihood, made in a hot factory somewhere in Guatemala by women earning a dollar per day, the very women who put their new babies up for adoption to American couples earning a hundred times as much.