Lowering the bar

4 Feb

Wife took the morning/early afternoon to be footloose and fancy free in Manhattan go to the doctor, leaving me with Baby Bilbo. The little squab. So I fed him a bottle, then we walked out (out!) of the house to get me some lunch at my favorite local cafe. I ate there, a quick lunch. Quick quick. As an aside, we need a word for ‘person eating as fast as possible while keeping one eye on the sleeping baby, hoping desperately that he won’t wake up before you’ve crammed at least something into your maw’ – how about ‘shoveling gastro-monitor?’ – and of course towards the end the baby began to wake up.

Doting father that I am, I then proceed to get back in line to get a couple of chocolate croissants, while the baby escalated from unhappy to crying (hierarchy of needs places chocolate croissants far above routine whimpering of small child, natch). By the time I made it out of there, baby had achieved a lovely kind of piercing cry that turns his face bright red and heats his internal temperature from ‘comfortable’ to ‘sweaty mess’ (he’s my son in this, sadly. The sweating, not the crying).

I roll out of the place with a beet-red, newly awake, crying baby, heated further by a hat and fur-lined cocoon, commonplace in walkable NYC, that would keep a penguin warm on the ice floes (I saw one the other day that I think was warm enough to incubate tropical butterflies). And a woman passes by, looks at me, looks at the baby, and says with a non-snarky, completely genuine smile, to the baby, ‘you’ve got such a good daddy!’

So, literally, no matter what I do, the fact that I’m a dad out with his child, makes me a good father. The bar is low, people, the bar is low.


One Response to “Lowering the bar”

  1. Kim February 8, 2011 at 12:01 am #

    I think she smelled the chocolate croissants, deduced there were two, and realized you were the kind of husband who endures piercing baby shrieks to bring babymama home said delicacies.


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