Lou's Pandemic Baptism

Last weekend we celebrated Lou’s baptism. Which meant we took our kids to church for the first time in more than three months. Thanks, coronavirus. And it was clear that they forgot how to behave at church. In fact, last time we were all there, in early March, Lou wasn’t even crawling, Nate and Sam had been pretty good about carrying notebooks and colored pencils to keep them busy during the long, quiet hour, and Tess was a disaster. She was gaining infamy for her ill-timed shrieks and barefoot galloping on the tile floors. But she was getting the hang of it. Slowly. 

Our church has been enforcing some pretty strict pandemic policies even after Kansas City “opened up.” I use that term loosely because most people and organizations are still pretty careful. The parish staff has taped off every other pew to enforce social distancing and marked off the aisles so that people don’t get too close while they’re waiting for communion. Masks are to be worn anytime you’re outside of your pew. And, like a lot of churches around the world, they began live-streaming services, so people could safely tune in at home and not feel like they’re missing anything.

Mass attendance is “awarded” through a lottery system—every week I hope we lose—but because Lou was going to be baptized, they gave us priority. 

Church started at 9am. We didn’t even leave the house until about 9:03, so we were sufficiently late by the time we got there. Sam had lost just oneof his shoes at a friends house the night before and he was protesting having to wear flip-flops by lying on the floor of our house in a crumbled, weepy heap. We were waiting in the car in the driveway, wondering whether or not he’d call our bluff that we were about to leave when Tighe got fed up and charged back into the house to get him. He stormed out a moment later, and since Sam doesn’t weigh much, he was carrying Sam under his arm as one would carry a stack of books from the library. If libraries were open.

So when we trudged into the church twelve minutes after the service started, we were on display for all to see. 

There weren’t many seats left, but we snagged half of a pew just in front of Tighe’s cousin and across the aisle from one of his aunts and uncles. The other family in our row slid down so we could maintain six feet of distance. I put Lou’s car seat between us for an extra barrier. 

And then the fun commenced! 

Since our kids had slept late and hadn’t eaten breakfast, as we were leaving the house, I had called out, “If you’re hungry, grab a snack!” As usual, Tess was the only one who had listened to my general announcement. Nate and Sam are usually too busy chatting to each other to hear me. 

So as we settled into our seats, Tess pulled a brownie from one of her pockets. Hmm, not as nutritious as I was imagining, but it’ll prevent hunger pangs and whininess, so whatever. She proceeded to eat it with the same carelessness as a three year-old eats anything, crumbs falling from her mouth onto the floor as she weaved in and out of our bodies and giggled at Lou. I tried to pick up the crumbs from the floor and cram them into a wipe I had grabbed from the diaper bag, discreetly. I didn’t want to draw attention to all the germs kids shed without even realizing it. 

When she finished her brownie, oblivious to the chocolate ring around her lips, she began slapping Sam, who was apparently blocking her access to Lou. 

“No, Sam, mooo-ooove!” she shrieked. Pushing and shoving ensued until she knocked Sam, like a pendulum, into Nate, who had been sitting upright and focused, like a good Catholic schoolboy. 

But no matter how disciplined he is, no eight year-old can resist the urge to swipe back at a sibling when he feels he’s been wronged. So he landed a jab on each of them and as he went for a knockout punch, Tighe lifted him up and slid under him to separate Nate and Sam. 

I swung Tess around by her arm to put her on the other side of me and we had effectively separated all three kids.

Oh, except we have four.

Lou was crawling under the pew and towards the elderly couple in front of us. Which I normally wouldn’t mind except that…. you know, pandemic. 

So we dragged Lou back to Lockdown Row and Tighe and I spent the next hour trying to regulate spats, minimize the spread of our germs, and model how to behave during a church service.

Except the moment when I lost it on Tess because she had lifted up my dress as though she was inspecting the undercarriage of a car. I had a wedgie at the time, so the rows behind me got a good view of my gluteus maximus. Tighes’s cousin, Maggie, later confirmed this. 

“Tess!” I hissed, my eyes wide with embarrassment and shock. “Don’t do that!” 

She let out a menacing cackle and immediately moved to do it a second time, but I swatted her hand away and moved her in front of me. 

Why did I not bring more snacks? And colored pencils and markers? And toys to occupy their little hands?

Oh yeah, because I’m out of practice. Just like them. 

When we walked up to communion, shame and guilt and embarrassment exuded from under my mask—and I’m not even Catholic! I balanced Lou on my hip and used my other hand to steer Sam and Tess, who had pulled their masks up over their heads until they covered their eyes, in the direction of the Eucharist. I alternated my grip on each of their shoulders, pushing and pulling at the right moments to make sure they didn’t get too close to the mass-goers ahead of us.

They would have stumbled into pews and the butts of the people if not for my guiding hand. Which is not a metaphor.

Finally, mass ended and we waited for our turn to exit and make our way to the small chapel that adjoined the church where Lou would be baptized.

Tighe’s cousin, Maggie joined us as the substitute godmother because Tighe’s sister, Kate couldn’t make the trip from Philadelphia. Thanks again, coronavirus. 

After a few moments, four more of Tighe’s cousins joined us, but due to Uber difficulties, the godfather, Tighe’s brother Johnny, was late. 

And so we waited.

In the tiny chapel. 

With the elderly priest. 

And lone parish staff member on duty that day. 

But our kids were already bored.

And hungry. (Except Tess, I guess, but she was probably still on a sugar high.)

Which is a dangerous combination.

So the wrestling continued. And as we waited, it eventually evolved into climbing under andon top of pews. Because now they had an audience of Tighe’s younger cousins, whom they worship. 

“Put your masks on!” I chided every few moments, interspersing my commands with “Get down from there!” and “Stay out of the priest’s way!”

“Where’s he Ubering from?” the priest asked, clearly growing impatient. He had run out of small talk, and his gentle reminders to social distance were not sinking into our kids. 

Finally, donning cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, flip-flops, and a long-sleeved t-shirt wrapped around his face as a mask, Johnny strutted in with the same amount of bravado as Gaylord Focker returning with Robert DeNiro’s cat, Jinx, in Meet the Parents.

No one was happier to see Johnny than the priest, who would soon be free to escape us and return to his quiet, humble, germ-free residence. After a few nice words about the symbolism of “hope during uncertain times,” he proceeded to baptize Lou in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

At least I think that’s what he said.

I was actually distracted by Sam. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him climb, barefoot, onto the top of the pew and reach up towards a window where the statue of a saint was positioned.

In that very special, holy moment of sacrament, as I cradled sweet baby Lou, the last of all my babies, over the baptismal font, all I could think was, “Sam! Get down from there!”

But Sam didn’t stop there. From his tiptoes, he reached a little further and used his finger to thoroughly inspect the votive candle in front of the saint. 

At which point an alarm sounded. The priest didn’t even seem to notice.

“Good Lord!” I thought to myself. I was powerless.

Fortunately, the sound of the alarm, more shrill than Tess’s most notable shrieks, made him draw his hand back to his body, which quieted the alarm, and he delicately climbed down from the pew, probably hoping no one had noticed his antics. 

I thanked the priest no fewer than eight times as I shoved our belongings into the diaper bag and chucked Sam’s flip-flops at him. 

We retreated to our house, back into quarantine, where at least we don’t bother anyone but each other. 

Later, as Lou napped and we were eating lunch, Tighe got a text from one of his friends in the parish. “You looked taller than usual at church today! I guess the camera adds height.”

It turns out he had caught the live-stream, and one of Tighe’s uncles later confirmed that we were on camera for the ENTIRE MASS.* I mean, except when we were late.

I had spied the camera as we sat down in our pew, but I had incorrectly assumed that it was zoomed in on the altar and the movements of the priest.  

Ah, that’s rich, I thought to myself. I love real-life comedy. Hopefully everyone tuning in at home also got to see my butt. What a nice little satirical package this blessed event turned out to be. 

Epilogue: After dragging our family to mass for the first time in four months, we got an email from the parish staff this morning. It turns out one of the Eucharistic ministers from the very mass we attended on the morning of Lou’s baptism tested positive for coronavirus. Am I imagining it or do our kids have runny noses? Do I have a sore throat? It seems the fun is only just beginning. Stay tuned. 

*Edit #1: Okay, I was wrong. It turns out the mass from that morning is available on YouTube and we weren’t on screen for the ENTIRE MASS, maybe only about 15 minutes or so. I can’t be sure because I can’t bring myself to watch the whole thing. There’s no sign of my butt, but you can hear Lou shriek at about the 40 minute mark.