Guest Blog Written By: Loretta Di Vita (original source Panoram Italia)
I can hear my parents from my crib, gushing about the fact that today is my baptism day. Considering all the fuss they’re making, you’d think it was my wedding day.
“She has to make bella figura,” Mommy tells Daddy, as she readies me for the joyful event. Sheez, I’m an infant and already I’m expected to make a good impression, put my best foot forward, albeit in a silly little satin slipper.
All gussied up, wearing a long, white taffeta gown, puffy from under-layers of silk, I worry about appearing 15 pounds heavier than my actual 15 pounds. To add to my embarrassment, Mommy’s stretching a frilly white band around my head. It looks like a garter belt. Like other unmentionables, it’s supposed to be worn on the inside, not prominently displayed around my forehead.
Now they’re propping me up on the bed. Oh no, not the photographer! Does he have to use the flash? Red eye! Red eye! And where are those pics going to end up anyhow? His Facebook page? He wants me to smile? Can’t he see I have no teeth? I refuse to smile. Stop with the prattle! No, not the doggie puppet! Don’t make me do it! I can’t resist; I squeal in delight, prompting Daddy to immediately Instagram my goofy, toothless grin.
Who are all those people in the dining room and why’s there so much food on the table? Panini, arancini, squares of yeasty pizza from the bakery, platters of mortadella and prosciutto slices rolled tight like cigars, and are those cannoli? I thought there’s supposed to be a sit-down dinner later, after the ceremony, only a couple of hours from now.
Why are we all going outside, leaving that gastronomical spread behind? Oh, we’re on our way to the church. What’s that, Daddy? You’re hoping Padre Pignotta isn’t drunk? Why is Mommy rolling her eyes like that?
Whoa, get a load of that limo! We’ll need the extra space to transport all those white gift boxes, with confetti-filled pouches dangling from them. I didn’t think they made stretch Hummers with bouquets of pink and white balloons attached to their bumpers.
Yessiree, I’m riding high, alright — in my baby seat!
The church is pretty with sunlight illuminating stain-glass windows, and jumbo white silky bows decorating the ends of pews. Mommy carries me in, while Daddy proudly walks astride. My godparents are giddy with glee. I look like an angel they say. A mini bride.
My godmother, resplendent in an emerald green sequin-encrusted dress, looks like the Little Mermaid. My godfather’s wearing a suit and tie. His five year-old son — my cousin — is equally dapper, rocking a Mini-Me replica of the same suit.
They’re handing me over to the commara. Is that really a corsage on her wrist? I can smell the scent of gardenia. And I make out the distinct aroma of Chianti…oh wait, it’s just Padre Pignotta.
The padre is quadrilingual, sermonizing in Italian, French, English, and Latin. Admittedly impressive; but I’m more impressed by that rattle he keeps shaking at me. Are those incense fumes? I’m feeling kinda woozy.
The ceremony is longer than I expected and I see Nonna, smiley and sad at the same time, like Mona Lisa, dabbing away at the tears in her eyes. She’s not crying as much as me, though, when the ceremonious Padre unceremoniously douses me with water.
Back in the limo, we’re off to the reception hall, where nearly a hundred of our closest relatives and friends await. Upon entering, an emcee announces my arrival. And without doing a thing to merit it, everyone applauds me! A gal like moi could get used to this kind of thing. Hey, is that a DJ? Open bar? Cool! Let’s pahteee!