“Chuffed” is a fairly new word in my vocabulary. I heard it, several times, when Peter and I were watching an episode of “The Great British Baking Show.” Baking contestants said it when they got good comments on what they had made, so I imagined that it must be something really great. Their faces looked pretty happy.

I looked it up on Dictionary.com, where it said “delighted, pleased, satisfied.”

I was chuffed last Saturday, while I was out getting some picture books. I went to all four Waco libraries (fortunately, Waco’s not all that big, and it’s not a difficult thing to get to all of them).

I was looking for preschool books about art. At the library closest to me, I went through the computer’s list of books and wrote down the call numbers and library locations. Of course, I could have gotten the books from the library where I was, and requested the other books from other libraries, and they would have been sent over, and I could have gotten them in a couple of days. But, not every book was going to be something that I could use, and then I’d have to bring back the ones I didn’t want, and it just seemed simpler to go to the libraries, look at the books, and then only check out the ones I wanted.

I was chuffed at the downtown library because there was a plethora of babies being strolled in and out of the library, and strolled around the tables and shelves in the library. I’m sure that animated programs displayed on a computer screen do enthrall babies. But they are not the same as a baby sitting in a lap and having an adult turn the pages and read the words and talk about the pictures in a book. I found the books I was looking for, decided which ones to take, along with an interesting book for myself (completely un-art-related), checked them out and carried them to the car.

Next I went to the East Waco library. A family was walking up to the library at the same time as I was. Mom had a tiny baby strapped to herself. “I’ve been to a couple of libraries today,” I said. “I think you win the prize for youngest library patron.” Mom smiled, which I took as an invitation to keep talking (but not touching). “How old?” I asked.

“She’s one week old.”

“Sounds about right for a trip to the library,” I said, and I went in to get some more books.

At the next library, I walked in, looked around, and said to the librarian, “Where are the babies? Every other library I’ve been to today had babies.”

“If you’d been here five minutes ago,” she said. “There was a baby.” Too late.

But the best baby-and-me interaction happened at the first library. I had walked down the aisle where there are audio books. I’m driving up to Ft. Worth in a few days and want something to listen to. As I walked out from that aisle, I saw a mom with a round, happy baby strapped to her chest. I made eye contact and we smiled at each other. “Yes,” I said. “Everybody should have a baby with them at the library.” Mom agreed.

And I went on along to the bank of computers, signed in, and began to look for art books for kids. Then I wrote down all those books and the libraries, and went off to look for the ones that were at this particular library. I found them, looked through them, and decided which ones I would take with me. When I walked from between the stacks on my way to the self-check-out counter, whom should I encounter but my friends, the mom with the baby. We looked our surprise at each other, and I leaned down to look the baby in the face and said, “Are you still here?”

And then I think I asked some baby-related question, like how old was he, or did they have a busy week ahead of them.

“Well,” she said, “we have to go to the doctor.”

“Oh,” I said. “Is he all right.?”

“We have to go to the hospital. For a brain scan. To be sure he’s okay.”

And she told me he’d been really premature, and they were having to keep a close eye on him.

“One of his kidneys is smaller than the other,” she said.

“Are both kidneys working,” I asked.

“For now,” she said.

Ordinarily, because I don’t want to be the scary-lady-at-the-library (or grocery store, or Target), I try to keep a couple of feet between me and any kid I’m talking to. And I certainly don’t touch a kid. But, mom was right there … and I touched his head. And he smiled his happy smile. And we said good-bye, and maybe we’d see each other another day at the library.

I’ve read a lot of library books. Not all of them have happy endings. Then again, quite of few of them do.

A second definition of “chuffed” means “great displeasure.” I guess people have to look at your face to see what sort of “chuffed” you are.