Getting an "A" in baby class

This past week, I belatedly watched the Hulu teen comedy Crush (2022). At the start of the movie, the protagonist Paige first develops a crush on her classmate A.J. when they pair up together for the "egg baby" project. 

Watching this scene, I was immediately filled with nostalgia; I remember doing a similar project in fifth grade... though for the life of me I cannot remember if I had a partner or not. I do remember dutifully keeping my 'parenting' journal, which strangely feels like it parallels my modern (real) motherhood habit of tracking my baby's needs and habits in a brightly-colored app. 

It was in high school, though, that the big "parenting preparation project" occurred. Rather than eggs or a bag of flour, in my high-school we simulated parenting through what I call the dreaded 'Robo-Baby.' 

I don't know of many schools who had a 'Robo-Baby' program in the early 2000s when I was a teen. Surely there were more than a few, but I only knew of my school's program locally. I do know that the robot dolls are still used today in programs throughout the country. They're actually called 'RealCare' babies, and they are meant to simulate motherhood by using a realistic-looking doll that cries (using sound recordings of actual babies) on what is supposed to follow real baby schedules. According to an article in the Boston Globe, the "programming is based on the habits of real babies, logged by real parents. There are 14 different programs with easy, medium, or hard settings selected or randomized by a teacher." 

Media-related side note: the fact that these 'Robo-Babies' exist made HBO's The Rehearsal seem extra hilarious to me, as Nathan Fielder needs to essentially simulate this exact situation in the early days of his parenting rehearsal. Instead, though, he hires a "night owl" to watch a feed of a real baby monitor, and then has him press a sound board button to make the robot baby cry at night whenever the real baby cries on the live feed. That's essentially what the RealCare baby does via programming, without the literal person watching a screen and pressing a button for each and every cry. The ridiculousness, though, is a part of the awkward humor of The Rehearsal, so these extra steps rather make sense for the show, even with the existence of a RealCare baby doll.

A promo image for The Rehearsal featuring Nathan Fielder and a horrifying fake baby

Back to the actual RealCare babies now. When I was in school, when the fake baby cried, a student had to insert a key (held to their wrist with a bracelet) into the baby doll's back until it stopped crying. It didn't matter what the crying was about; you just had to respond quickly and hold the key to the baby until the crying stopped. The longer you waited and the longer the baby cried, the more points you lost.

I distinctly remember having my morning shower on my second day with the RealCare baby and hearing the crying while my hair was still full of shampoo. I leapt out of the shower and crouched down naked on the bathroom floor, cuddling the doll as I shoved the key in its back. The memory is vivid and full of emotion; I desperately wanted to keep my A in the class, soap in my eyes and puddle of water on the floor be damned. If possible, I wanted a perfect score on this project.

Today's RealCare babies are even more complicated; according to a story for This American Life, a 2020's student wears an even higher-tech bracelet that "she swipes over the baby... that identifies her as the mother. Next, she [must] figure out why the baby is crying. It could need one of four things: burping, rocking, diapering, or feeding. To feed it, you hold a fake bottle by the baby's lips... [A student has] only two minutes to get it right. If you don't, you lose points. If you don't support the baby's neck? More points off."

Support the neck? Seriously? Yes, as the Boston Globe article explains: "The RealCare baby has a patented neck with sensors that can detect if its head is not supported properly, prompting a unique cry that issues an ominous warning. It also registers three other 'abuses' — shaking the baby, holding it upside down, or physical abuse — and records neglect if the student doesn’t tend to it." 

I do remember our dolls in the early 2000s having both a neglect and abuse recorder at least; one girl in my class brought her "baby" to a high school football game and a group of high school boys (very much not in the parenting project class) thought it was hilarious to abuse and destroy said baby. If I remember correctly, by the end of the game the baby's plastic head had been completely severed from its body. I'm not sure what happened to that girl's project grade, but I do know the RealCare babies cost over a thousand dollars, so permanent damage is often severely reprimanded. 

I'm honestly still not entirely sure of the purpose of the RealCare baby project. For some schools, it was simply a way to show students the difficulties and skills needed for parenting. For others, care for a RealCare baby was a part of a larger sex-ed program meant to scare teens away from early sex and pregnancy. (A bit of a snag with that latter goal; a study of the effects of the RealCare baby system seemed to show that the experience of caring for the dolls does "not prevent teen pregnancy but may promote it," as "many [of the schoolgirls surveyed] actually enjoyed taking care of the 'virtual infant'... [and] believed they were more prepared for motherhood" because of the assignment.") 

Lately, though, I've been wondering if it's really such a good idea that most of our first encounters with "parenting" with any kind of stakes occur within the context of a graded assignment. Whether it's an egg, a bag of flour, or a RealCare baby, our care and early attempts at "parenting" are given a score. Gradation can have an incredibly powerful effect, not just on report cards but also psychologically. One survey of college freshman found that 80% reported that their sense of self-worth was directly tied to their academic performance and feelings of competence, which they felt was reflected through their grades. This had led some researchers to call "for grades to be abolished altogether," though the complete abolishing of gradation has few mainstream supporters.

I do wonder, though, about the effect these early childhood parenting assignments had on many of us. Did worrying about getting an A, a perfect score even with that gorgeous and elusive A+, carry over into real parenthood?

I wonder this sometimes as I'm rocking or patting my screaming baby. My little one managed to be a colicky, purple crier in his first months and has reflux that can still lead to sudden and intense periods of back-arching, scream-crying. I can make shushing sounds, I can pat his back, I can rock him, I can change positions... but sometimes, nothing seems to work. In those moments, even as I'm comforting my baby and doing my best to soothe him and let him know I'm here for him, I can almost see the numbers on my imaginary 'Parenting Grade' dropping. After all, that's how the RealCare baby grade was measured: every minute that goes by where you're not solving the problem and your baby is still crying, you're losing points.

I think it was in a conversation with my own mother that the idea of striving to be a B-range parent came up; not an A-level parent, as that's crazy-making and unrealistic. A good enough parent, if you will. In fact, that term "has been around" in some form since the 1950s. 

"[The] term 'good-enough mother' was coined by British pediatrician and psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott. He used the term to describe the necessary process whereby a mother, who starts out hyper-responsive to her infant’s needs, naturally relaxes her responsiveness in healthy ways as the child grows and develops" (Balis). This was not framed as a bad change. In fact, Winnicott believed that parenting misses and mistakes were actually a benefit, as 'imperfections better prepare [children] for an imperfect world.'"

So, maybe not getting a "perfect score" in responding to a child isn't just okay... it can actually be healthy in the long run, both for parent and child.

That's hard to keep in mind, though. Sometimes, as I'm rocking my baby and he stops crying and settles into a quiet nap in my arms, I wish I could get that RealCare baby print out and know my grade. As a still recovering type-A student, it's hard not to wish (against all logic) that it was possible for a perfect score.