How To Visit A Baby

If you ask a new parent what they need, you’ll get “nothing, we’re fine” or a long pause. New parents don’t even know what they need. So don’t ask. Go looking.

Walk in and make the bed; it’s been slept in sideways for ten minutes at a time since the baby arrived. Nobody’s going to ask you to do this, and almost nobody will think to do it for themselves, but climbing into a made bed at the end of a day that had thirty seconds of dignity in it does something incredible. If you can find the sheets in the linen closet? Hero status.

While you’re at it, take out the garbage, shake out the welcome mat if there is one, and if you end up in the bathroom, wipe the mirror and the faucet, because those are the two surfaces that show every fingerprint and the last thing anyone’s tracking is streaks.

Make tea. Don’t ask “do you want tea,” just put the kettle on and make it, because the asking is its own tiny tax and most people will say no to avoid the bother of someone bothering on their behalf. If there’s a diaper bin anywhere in the house, empty it without being asked, and take thirty seconds to glance at the changing area or the caddy and see what’s running low. You’ll usually know just by looking. Wipes are always running low.

Put together a little snack tray when you’re there, or better, bring one with you, a snackle box if you will, just a container with a bit of everything in it that doesn’t need a plate or two free hands. This is the whole principle behind a good visit: anything you bring or do should require zero prep and zero decision-making from the people you’re visiting. Room temperature, not frozen, because frozen means someone has to remember it exists and then defrost it and that’s a future problem nobody has the bandwidth for. Think cheese & crackers, nuts, dried fruits, a six pack of whatever pop they like, one of those protein drinks, the protein chips or whatever new protein candy has shown up at the store since I last checked, anything that can be eaten standing up with a baby on one arm. I can guarantee you that family is surviving on cereal and cookies. (Not just mine, right?)

Bring the small stuff that’s annoying to run out of and annoying to remember to buy: wipes, diaper cream, a nice hand cream that’s unscented because hands are getting washed forty times a day and scented anything near a newborn is its own conversation, and laundry detergent, also unscented, because there is suddenly a hundred percent more laundry than there used to be and approximately zero percent more time to think about what’s in it.

You’ll get invited back.