All of my conversations with other babies’ parents consist of two parts: the agreement that we can’t compare how different babies develop, and the rest of the conversation where all we do is compare how our babies are developing.

Despite each of us agreeing that every baby develops differently, comparing babies is parents’ favorite pastime.

Comparing Babies: Parents’ Favorite PastimeBut I’m constantly trying to resist the urge because it will make you crazy.

For example, we’re moving my eleven-and-a-half-month-old daughter Senita towards free-standing and (eventually) walking.

We’re moving at a steady enough progress to keep us happy. At least we were until our first Itty Bitty Baby class back from holiday break when I saw a younger kid running wind sprints underneath the rainbow parachute.

I’m counting it as a win that Senita didn’t (for the first time ever) put the jingle bell directly into her mouth while this kid’s taking stock tips on his Fisher Price Laugh & Learn iPhone.

Skills aren’t the only place where we compare babies. Most people start with their physical appearance.

Everyone always comments on Senita’s piercing blue eyes. Several people have told me that’s going to mean trouble for me down the road. I think this comment may be vaguely sexual?

I’ve avoided inquiring further, but it’s happened enough times that I may start asking. Because if they are sexualizing my baby, that’s concerning. And weird. But mostly, concerning.

My biggest insecurity with Senita’s appearance has been hair-related. Though she wasn’t born bald, Senita grew very fine and light hair that made her look bald.

It was adorable, but it made complete strangers repeatedly refer to her as a little boy, even when she was wearing pink.

So I put a hair bow on her every time we went out in public, but then other parents just reacted to her hair bow by telling me that their kid won’t wear them (“She just pulls them right off!”).

Baby Hair Bow Humor WritingI never know if I’m supposed to respond to this statement with sympathy, awe, or embarrassment that my child’s head is so easily tamed.

So I just say, “Oh!” with a vocal lift at the end, as if it were an interesting piece of information (it is not).

They also like to comment on her size and guess how old she is as if they were barking in customers at the carnival.

People obsess over a baby’s size from the moment she is born.

So many people felt entitled to know my daughter’s weight and length at birth. I didn’t know then and I still don’t know. It isn’t that I don’t care, I just don’t have a good memory for numbers; I can only remember a few at any given time.

I hit capacity when I wedged my wedding anniversary date into my overcrowded head. I’m so bad at remembering numbers that I temporarily changed my computer password to my wife’s cell phone number in order to memorize it.

On a related note, I couldn’t confidently name a single digit of my daughter’s social security number and I think I’ll actually need to know that number someday.

The worst topic parents compare about babies, though, is sleep.

Conversations between parents about their babies’ sleep are like conversations between pre-teen boys about sex: almost everything is exaggerated and the participants are somehow defensive, boastful, judgmental and curious all at the same time.

Why is it that when you say you “slept like a baby,” it’s considered the end of the conversation, yet conversations about how a baby slept never end?

We’re all insecure and trying our best but it seems unfair to put this level of attention on to developmental milestones that are out of our control. When I’m tempted to fall into the baby-comparison trap, I try to take my lead from Senita, who’s usually just happy being herself.

If parents are going to keep comparing other people to our babies, maybe we should start by comparing ourselves to them.

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