Thoughts on "Babies"

Just finished watching the documentary, "Babies," which is one hour and 20 minutes of nothing but footage of the lives of four babies from around the world, covering birth up until they turn 1.

It's an OK movie ... in terms of having a message, there's not much there, but that's kind of what's cool about it, especially in this hyper-helicopter parent culture where we all sit around and secretly judge each other's parenting techniques and skills. It lets you draw your own conclusions, and I like that.

The babies are from Namibia, Mongolia, Tokyo, Japan and San Francisco, and one of the coolest parts of the film is watching the cultural differences. For instance, I was amused as all get out at the Namibian baby, who spent his first year in the dirt, sucking on rocks, old bones, sticks and drinking from the local gulley wash (or whatever). I could not help but think of the father I saw at the park on Friday, who was having repeated freak-outs every time one of his kids -- a son and daughter I estimated to be about 6 and 3, respectively -- would touch the sand at the playground. He looked exasperatedly at one mom and sighed, shaking his head: "The other playground does not have sand." He kept fussing at them about being "dirty" and getting sand in their shoes.

Dude, those kids are going to have some issues if he doesn't lighten up. I kept picturing him watching that little African boy picking an old bone from the dirt, or sitting six inches from the carcass of some animal his mother was skinning and gutting. I bet he'd break out in a sweat and have to shower or something.

The funniest part of the movie, probably unintentionally, was when the Californian kid was at some kiddie music and movement class with her father, and all these liberal white people (I am a liberal white person, so I can poke fun with impunity, right?) were chanting in some other language and then following that up with another verse about how Mother Earth will provide. It was all very Kumbaya-esque, and therefore giving me great fits of eye-rolling. Anyway, the kid, Hattie, gets up and makes a beeline for the door and starts shaking it, like she's trying to escape the hippie drum circle.

Hilarious.

I was a little worried that watching the movie would make me have pangs for another kid. But no ... I checked my exhaust-o-meter and it still reads that I'm pushing 40 and not getting nearly enough sleep as it is. So a family of four we shall remain. Although, if I could get my hands on that little Mongolian kid, I might adopt him. Seriously ... that kid, by the end of the movie, is right up my alley. Equal parts mischief, cheeks and nerve. Almost edible, that one.