The mothers must narrate everything, impart wisdom, give their undivided attention, maintain eye contact at all times. When the dolls ask why, why, why, as toddlers are wont to do, the mothers must provide answers. Curiosity must be rewarded.
“The dolls have an off switch,” Ms. Khoury says. “You do not.”
The mothers practice like singers running through scales. If the dolls babble, the mothers must try to turn those sounds into words. Interpret, the instructors say. Affirm. Help her make meaning.
“Sky,” Lucretia says, pointing out the window. “Clouds. Trees.”
“Boots,” Frida says. “Shoelaces.” She names facial features. Body parts. She counts Emmanuelle’s fingers and toes. What does the doll need to hear? At home, her conversations with Harriet revolve around feelings and tasks. The next nap, the next meal, how much she loves Harriet, how much she missed Harriet when she was at her father’s. She mimics Harriet’s babble. They make up words. “Gola-gola” for granola. “Goggy” for dog. “Blue-blue” for blueberry. “Cado” for avocado. Frida peppers their conversations with her rudimentary Mandarin. Harriet knows how to say xie xie, thank you. She knows the words for father and mother, grandmother and grandfather, auntie and uncle. She’ll wave her hands and scream, “No xie xie! No xie xie!” when she wants Frida to switch to English.
Frida takes Emmanuelle’s hand gently, lovingly. She relaxes her face and speaks in the soft, pleasing pitch of a customer service representative. There are so many questions she can’t ask: Who made you? How easy is it to break you? Are you wearing a diaper? Do you eat and drink? Can you get sick? Can you bleed? What happened during the lunch hour? When Emmanuelle was unfrozen, she collapsed into Frida’s arms as if she’d been holding her breath the whole time. That can’t be good for her.
The instructors observe and give pointers.
“Relax your jaw,” Ms. Khoury tells Lucretia.
“Use your imagination,” Ms. Russo tells Beth, the broken bird.
“Your voice should be as light and lovely as a cloud,” Ms. Russo says.
“What does a cloud sound like?” Beth asks, looking up at Ms. Russo through a curtain of glossy hair.
“Like a mother.”
“But that makes no sense.”
“Mothering isn’t about sense, Beth. It’s about feeling.” Ms. Russo pats her heart.
Frida asks Emmanuelle if she’s friends with the other girls. Emmanuelle shakes her head. Frida pitches her voice higher, extolling the virtues of female friendship. She never spoke to Harriet in such a thrilling fashion. No one ever spoke this way in her family. At the dinner table, her parents talked about work. She wasn’t asked about her day or her feelings. With Harriet, motherese had felt no more natural than braces. The higher Frida’s voice, the more suspicious Harriet became.
Frida glances at the clock. It’s 2:43. They should have landed in San Francisco by now. She hopes Harriet behaved on the flight.
The lesson segues from motherese to physical affection. Both skills will be part of their daily mothering practice and will serve as the building blocks for more complex mothering tasks.
Hugs and kisses must communicate safety and security. Hugs and kisses should be plentiful but not smothering. The instructors demonstrate with Ms. Russo playing the mother, and Ms. Khoury the child. The mothers must first assess their child’s needs: Hug or kiss or both? What kind of hug? What kind of kiss? Quick and gentle? One cheek, two cheeks, nose, or forehead?
The mothers must not kiss their dolls on the lips. On the lips is European, sets the wrong precedent, makes children vulnerable to molesters.
Ms. Khoury whimpers. Ms. Russo pulls Ms. Khoury to her breast stiffly. “One, two, three, let go. One, two, three. Release.”
They shouldn’t hold for more than three beats. Sometimes five or six beats is permissible if the child is injured or has experienced verbal, emotional, or physical trauma. Up to ten beats is permitted in extreme situations. Longer than that will hinder the child’s burgeoning independence.
Remember, the instructors say, you’re no longer dealing with an infant. The mothers can add some words of encouragement as they see fit. I love you. It’s going to be okay. There, there.
Frida sees Emmanuelle watching her, cataloging her. She tries to keep her expression neutral. Hiding her feelings has never been her strong suit. Her wide-open face was a dead giveaway whenever she traveled in Asia. Obviously an American. All her life, her mother has scolded her for frowning.