My Pride and Joy

In an undergrad psychology class I once took, I was one of ten students who got extra credit for bringing our boyfriends or girlfriends to class. We all stood up on the stage at the front of the auditorium in a large group, and the class tried to match us up. The theory was that people tend to gravitate toward the familiar. You select a mate who looks similar to you. Couples look alike.

I was paired with nine other boys before, by default, I was finally correctly placed with TH (my boyfriend at the time). They tried me with every other guy first. That should tell you something about our appearance. We look nothing alike. Nothing. I am athletic. Fair. Sunny. I have a tiny nose. He is lean. Dark. Intense. His nose is . . . not so tiny.

When I was pregnant, we joked that we would either make a really cute kid, or a really, really, really weird-looking kid.

Turns out we made a really, really cute kid.

In the beginning, I wasn't even too confident of that. I thought maybe it was the whole, "I'm her mom and she's the most beautiful thing in the world . . . to me" thing. But after having everyone tell me how beautiful my daughter is--friends, people on the internet, my pediatrician, random strangers on the street--I started to think that maybe she really is just drop-dead gorgeous. Time and again I got the exact same comment: "She's a Gerber baby." "Oh my God, she looks just like a Gerber baby!" etc.

Do you have any idea how good it feels to have people compliment your child so much? My mommy-heart swells with such unbelievable pride and joy. My child is beautiful!

Eventually it all went to my head, and I did what any ridiculously proud, look-at-my-gorgeous-baby parent would do. I sent her picture into an online baby photo contest.

The first one I entered (yes, the first one. There have been more than one. I'll get there.) cost $20 to enter but you get all kinds of free gifts and your child's photograph is judged by industry modeling experts! Oh my, I thought. My baby is going to be judged by baby model experts! They will swoon! Cue more swelling of pride and joy and entering of credit card information. One of the free gifts was an 11 x 14 canvas of the photo I submitted. Of course they tried to upsell me with bigger sizes, fancy frames, and nifty photo effects, but I was too smart for them and just stuck to the basic free version. 'Til I got to the end and realized I have to pay shipping. But just think of how awesome it's going to be to have baby girl's amazingly cute picture on a big canvas on our wall, free for the oohing and awing and gushing of all who enter. Cue more swelling of pride and joy and entering of more credit card information. So this first free contest ended up costing me $40. I felt a little suckered, to be honest, but managed to justify the $40 with the "free canvas print" we are going to be receiving, the subscription to the parenting magazine, and the fact that my daughter could win $25,000! ha!

I found a second contest to enter that same day that was truly free. Score! (In order to get your baby to win, you have to garner the most votes from viewers. I posted the link here and on the various message boards I'm a member of, only to discover that voters have to register with the website before being able to vote. Lame. As much as I think she's cuter than any baby ever alive and would win the contest hands down, I'm not going to expect people to put their email address out there for another company to have and sell.) It was after entering her in this contest that I started to wonder if I wasn't pimping my daughter out. I mean, child beauty pageant moms all start somewhere, right? And that is probably somewhere along the lines of "my baby is so gorgeous, I'm going to enter her in a photo contest." I felt like it was wrong on some level, and yet I just couldn't help myself from doing it. She IS gorgeous. She COULD win. My baby could WIN a baby photo contest. Cue more swelling of pride and joy. And entering of photo into contest.

Then my sister sent me the link to a third contest. This one actually said "Gerber Baby" on it--how could I resist?!? It's perfect! She IS a Gerber Baby! Everyone says so! There were two options: a free contest that works on viewer votes and a "professional" contest--judged by industry experts!--that cost . . . you guessed it . . . $20. Ha! I thought. I'm onto them! I entered her in to the free contest. I was proud of myself. I resisted getting suckered into another $20 fee. I didn't resist getting suckered into entering her into another contest completely, but I mean, come on, my baby is gorgeous and could win! (If you are eye rolling at this point, you're right on cue.)

Then the emails started. Your baby's photo was reviewed by our editors and she was picked to enter the professional contest! (Cue swelling of pride and joy) Just pay $20 . . . (argh!!). And another one. Your baby's photo was reviewed by our editors and picked to be published in this beautiful hard-bound book, The Most Beautiful Babies in America! (Cue swelling of pride and joy) For only $20, you could own your very own copy (argh!!). And another one. Don't you want to remember the time your baby was selected as one of the most beautiful babies in America? For only $20, you could have this gorgeous commemorative plaque . . . Argh, argh, argh!!

In the last 24 hours, I have gotten more than ten emails from this contest, each with a slightly different approach, but all essentially hell bent on getting that $20 out of me. They are using a variety of tactics, but all of them blatantly target my maternal pride and joy. Your baby has been selected. Your baby is beautiful. Your baby is being recognized. And so on and so on and so on ad nauseum.

I have to hand it to the marketing team. They know the way to a mother's wallet. There is no better, quicker way to get a usually-smart-and-savvy woman to part ways with her cash than to connect it to her sense of maternal pride. And several times they almost got me, even though I KNOW it's all just a marketing ploy. My pride would whine, It's only $20! And how cool would it be to have baby girl in a BOOK of American's most beautiful children!?!

The thing that eventually saved me was not arguing against that voice, but giving in and following the train of thought to the end. Okay, so she gets in a book. So what? Do I need a book to tell me my baby is beautiful? So she wins a contest. So what? Would I ever really let her become a child model? Would we move to any of the cities it says we have to live in for her to pursue this? The answer to all of these was a resounding no. I don't need a book to tell me my daughter is adorable. I see that every time I look at her, every time she smiles or squeals, every time she gets that mischievous twinkle in her little eye. I don't want my daughter growing up with such an emphasis placed on her physical appearance. I would never want her to be a child model. I want her to play outside and get dirty and not take herself too seriously. I want her to have a healthy disregard for the way her hair looks or what size clothes she wears.

Realizing this--or remembering that I already knew all this--was what helped me overcome my 48-hour battle with my pride and joy. I hit unsubscribe on all the emails telling me that she was picked by the editorial team. There was still a momentary sense of panic when I wondered if they would be able to get a hold of me if they were serious about her . . . but then I remembered that I didn't care.

I looked at her, there on the floor, slobbering all over herself, rolling around, sticking everything she can find into her mouth, messing up her hair, grinning wildly and with complete abandon, and knew that this was the baby I wanted to keep. The innocent, happy, and yes, totally gorgeous little baby that she is. And it's enough just to know that myself.