“A papoose?”
“No, a sling.”
“Yes, a papoose.”
“Well, whatever.”
My dismissal of his Smart Alec, fancy words is all I can think of when I’m this tired. It is freezing cold outside, the dashboard thermometer registering a lowly -7 degrees celcius. And we’re on our way to work. He’s picking on me. He knows I’m at a low ebb, and likely to concede defeat early on.
My good friend assures me that ‘everyone’ is aware of the term papoose. Well I’m not. Does that make me inferior? Unfit to stand with the ‘in’ crowd? Through sheer ignorance of something as profoundly essential as a papoose, I now find myself marginalised.
I’ve never heard of a papoose before. When would I have heard, or used, the word papoose? When could I possibly have had the need? This is defensiveness, and I know it. I’m a new Dad. I should know everything about baby accessories.
And after all, need doesn’t come into it. Through my 28 years of life education in various forms I have obtained, and retained, much useless knowledge. An elderly engineering colleague once suggested I learn a new word every day. I have him to thank that I now have the meaning of ‘proclivities’ lodged firmly in my brain. And I can remember the number plate of my Dad’s old Rover 216. It was D903 HEX, and it was 1989. Useful or what?!
But I’ve never heard of a papoose.
Added to this is the fact that my friend has yet to father his own children. How can he know this, and I don’t? I am beginning to suspect that this whole ruse has been orchestrated to cause me great distress and humiliation, and that in fact there is no such thing as a papoose. A classic old game of ‘one-up-manship’.
Later, in the safe confines of my own home, I decide there is nothing for it but to verify the authenticity of this object through a popular search engine. But there is a snag. What did he say it was called again? A pu... pou......pouce?
I ask the wife.
“Oh, you mean a papoose”.
Yes. I mean a papoose. And guess what? A certain website describes a papoose as a child carrier used by Native Americans. Well, that’s just great, isn’t it. Native Americans? How was I meant to get that one?
This revelation suggests that I need to take a long, hard look at myself. I need to face facts. There are going to be times when I am found out as the newcomer Dad that I really am.
Now not knowing the proper name for a sling is not the end of the world, granted. But doubtless I will be responsible for many more costly mistakes through the process of bringing up our little bundle of joy, even with the best of intentions. There will be times when I will miss the point of what the wee man is trying to say, or prescribe the wrong course of discipline for an undeserving crime. Woe betides that I should ever lose patience with him, or claim to be too busy. And yet I know deep down that I will be guilty of all of these things at some point.
Our responses to getting it wrong define how wrong we get it.
An error is compounded by the inability to see things objectively. Am I spending my time feeling bad for getting it wrong, or using my energies to put right that which has gone wrong? Am I languishing in self pity, disappointed with myself for not recalling the metaphorical papoose?
And so I am brought back to the present. My wife informs me that he has gained little weight since his last weigh-in five days earlier. He is stuck on 6lbs 13oz.
I read the label of the papoose, now entirely at ease with the new terminology.
Suitable from 7.5lbs.
That's that, then. The papoose lies vacant and idle, for today at least.