Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico - When I was slogging through menopause a decade or so ago, I was swept into a kind of baby binge. I dreamt about babies at night, cried every time I saw one of my grandchildren, and stopped women who were pushing babies in strollers or shopping carts or hauling them around like sacks of turnips with eyes.

I talked all the mushy baby talk most men hate unless you are whispering it in their ears, took their little hands in mine, and smiled and said, "You are so cute... yes you are, you really are."

As I moved closer, the mother would usually tense up, a grim look on her face. I was crossing boundaries, breaking barriers. This happened again and again. At first, I thought it was just a few unfriendly women. Then I thought maybe it was me. Eventually I realized it was all the mothers whose children I was gushing over.

And even if I had been young and blond and thin and well dressed, they would not have wanted me sticking my head in their kids' strollers. Something strange had happened since my sons were little. Somewhere along the line mothers had become suspicious of kind strangers. It wasn't just about middle aged red heads. They didn't want anyone messing with this kids.

In Mexico these boundaries do not exist. In Mexico the boundaries are different. Familes and friends share their babies as if they were warm brownies. Everyone is allowed to adore the babies. You can hold them and kiss them, and have their little baby goodness in your arms for as long as you like, which brings me to my friend Heather's recent experience at the Paradise Village shopping mall.

First, however, I need to tell you about Heather's baby Noah.

All babies stare. Remember Neil Armstrong's one little step for man, one giant leap for mankind? Babies are like that - new arrivals on an old planet. Everything in front of them is profoundly interesting from soft mother-skin to kisses and coos and nighttime blues, a cramp in the belly, the color red, daddy's goofy "I am your daddy" face. Babies stare because they are trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

But there are some babies who seem more intent and curious than others. Noah is one of these. Born a preemie six months ago, he now has linebacker thighs and a crooked grin, long lashes and a thin haze of blond hair. But it is Noah's eyes that bring you to your knees - or more to the point, pin you to the wall. Noah is either an old soul or a cat in disguise.

I mean this baby stares. Maybe it's the size of his eyes - think, ET - or the color, the cerulean blue of a Mexican sky - or maybe it is just because being thrust into the world weighing less than four pounds, a full two months before he was due, surprised the hell out of him. But whatever it is, Noah's piercing stare stops Mexican women in their tracks. Big staring blue eyes go a long way down here.

A recent trip Noah took with his infant-weary mother to the Laundromat is a case in point. Heather has a washer/dryer machine, an all in one Mexican moment which would be a great idea if it worked. Unfortunately, there are a few kinks.

Heather's machine knows how to wash, but it cannot quite figure out the drying part. So, there she was pushing a stroller full of two loads of soaking wet baby clothes and husband clothes and her clothes with 17 pounds of Noah squirming in her arms and trying to open the door of the Laundromat when a Mexican woman rushed over to help.

"I couldn't believe it," Heather recalls, her eyes as shocked as Noah's. "She didn't help me open the door. She grabbed my baby!"

Mexican and American cultures are at odds in many ways, but when it comes to babies they split right down the middle. Americans shelter their kids, Mexicans share them with the world. This reaching out to help another woman, another mother, is as natural to a Mexican as sweeping the street in front of her house each morning. It is what you do. Mexicans do not babysit for each other, they are sit-in-mothers for each other's kids.

In Mexico there is only one thing more hallowed than the pueblo - the babies.

Heather's sit-in-mother took Noah over to the three women she had been talking with before Noah's arrival. Mira, she crowed, presenting him as you would a movie star. Mira, Brad Pitt! And the women fell apart as they always do when staring blue eyed babies are in town.

Heather stuffed her clothes into the dryer, while she watched the women out of the corner of her eye. She has lived here awhile, but culturally speaking, she is as American as the rest of us. When she was done, she walked over and picked up Noah and smiled and thanked everyone, put Noah into the stroller and wandered around the Paradise mall while her clothes dried.

I suspect she had an Italian gelato while she was waiting, and probably browsed through a few stores looking for tops but mostly she was hoping no one would steal her laundry. This is Mexico and things do disappear and most of us Gringos don't feel all that comfortable leaving our purses in supermarket carts while we check the avocados or our cameras on the bankets at the beach or, to be perfectly frank, our babies in strangers' arms.

When Heather returned to the Laundromat, all but one of the sit-in mothers were gone. Heather did not hesitate for a moment. She walked over to the kind Mexican woman, handed over Noah, took her clothes out of the dryer and proceeded to fold the babies soft warm onesies.

Heather has lived here for six years. She speaks fluent Spanish, has made a lot of Mexican friends and enjoys an active role in her community. She knows the names of the plants in her garden and the neighbors on her street. Still, I think it is fair to say, that last week at the Laundromat, thanks to Noah and his big staring blue eyes, she has finally, officially acclimated to Mexico.