I do not know how to interact with children.

There has never really been anyone younger than me in my life–I’m the youngest of two siblings, and almost everyone in my generation of my family lives far away. I was usually the youngest kid in my class and have never done any babysitting. So while I have nothing against kids, they are completely foreign things to me.

We like kids, at my work. While I haven’t done a complete survey, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person there who doesn’t have any. The two other counter people and several regular customers have had babies during their acquaintance, which gives them that special “I knew you when you were this big!” relationship that irritated me so much when I was little. It’s fairly common for moms to bring their kids in the car or a stroller when they’re running errands, which if nothing else has taught me the important life lesson that making silly faces at babies until they laugh is lots of fun.

So a man came in one day with probably the most cheerful baby I’ve ever seen. She was just beaming at everybody, and hanging out happily in one of her dad’s arms while he dropped off some clothes with the other.

“I also have a pair of pants I want hemmed,” he said. He nodded towards the fitting room, which meant he was familiar with the process and I could skip the rundown of how it works. The tailor, who was out at the counters chatting with us, went to get his chalk and pins.

“Do you want me to hold your baby while you do the fitting?” Maria asked hopefully. Maria is one of those born moms, and any child in her presence immediately gets her attention and affection.

“Oh, it’s okay,” the customer said. “I can do it one-handed, I’ve done this before.” In retrospect, it’s pleasing that he was that used to having his daughter in one arm. A lot of people have their kids with them all the time in a backpack or a sling, but his way makes her seem a little more like a family member and a little less like luggage.

He went off to change. I kept an ear on the fitting while doing other things. Diego does not speak very much English, and sometimes needs a nonstandard request to be translated for him. When they were done, the customer came out to the counters again before changing back.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a hand now,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll stick myself with the pins.”

I glanced around, but Maria was with a customer.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” I said. I’m trying to get out of the habit of avoiding the unfamiliar.

He handed me the baby, and I carefully paid attention to where her weight was resting so that she would both be and feel well-supported. She looked at me, wide-eyed, and then started to whimper. And then to wail.

We made some sympathetic noises and passed her back to daddy, where she immediately transformed back into the happy smiling thing that had come in the door. The customer laughed a little and said,

“It’s okay, I’ll manage.”

Maria finished with her customer while he was in the changing room and looked at me.

“I bet she would have been fine if I’d held her,” she said, teasing.

“I’m sure she would have,” I agreed. I felt a bit sheepish, but didn’t take it personally. Lots of things are scary when you’re a baby, and she could probably tell I wasn’t sure what I was doing.

A few days later, I found myself idle when a girl, maybe sevenish, came in with her father. Maria took care of his pickup while the daughter eyed the candy jar.

“Can I have one?” she asked me.

“If your dad says it’s okay,” I told her.

“Dad, can I have a candy?”

“Did you ask?”

“Yes!”"

“Okay then.”

She stood up on her toes to peer into the jar, which is strapped to the side of the clothes rack at the counter to keep it from being bumped off the edge all the time. I unstrapped it and held it a bit lower so she could see what was inside.

“Hmm. What’s this one?” she asked me, pointing.

“That’s taffy. It’s chewy, and grape flavored. This other one over here is the same thing, but banana.”

She poked around a little, and then picked out two mini-boxes of Nerds.

“Yellow or red?” She was thinking out loud, not asking, but I looked at the boxes and said,

“Well, this one says it has lemon and wild cherry in it, so that’s yellow AND red.”

That seemed acceptable, so she put the other box back and I strapped the jar back onto the counter. Her father reminded her to thank me, and they went on their way. For some reason, there was nothing awkward at all about that interaction for me. Maybe some “dealing with children” part of my brain just happened to be awake that day, or maybe I’m just learning.