Still in rotation
Roly-Poly (variation from his teacher: Hey Roly-Man, because he rolled around, a LOT)
This afternoon we took Henry to Rock-a-Baby at City Treehouse, which I found out about on Red Tricycle. I have taken Henry to story time/singalongs at the library, which he enjoyed even before he could bop along, so I was excited to find a music program aimed at babies, especially since Henry can bop along now.
One hesitation: Rock-a-Baby features puppets. Henry did not enjoy puppets the last time he encountered them, at school picture day (he is the only baby crying in the class photo). And by “hesitation” I of course mean “feature of the show I was most looking forward to.” Because why have children if you can’t delight in their torment? He noticed the puppets, but not enough to have any feelings about them. I got no crying baby photos this outing.
The show was $20 per child, $25 at the door. It was about an hour long and was for ages 0-3 (though one kid was definitely older and not cool about it). Two rainbow tumbling mats were laid out in front of the stage mostly, I’m sure, to preserve parents’ knees and to set a parameter for the chaos. We hung out in the back for this maiden voyage, mostly because Henry was a little tired, and the more tired he gets the more hair he pulls.
He was just as interested in crawling under the benches, slapping flat surfaces, and watching other people as he was in the music. But when we held him up and focused his attention on the musicians he clapped and waved his hands and bounced. Until he got redistracted by the shoe rack.
I’m writing about our outing mostly as a self-congratulatory homage to my effort to begin seeking out such activities and then following through by actually attending them. The top weekend activity in the Measured in Weeks household, if we aren’t attending brunch, is to spend the day in Central Park, which we don’t plan on changing, but it’s definitely worth taking advantage of some of New York’s many offerings once in awhile. And then making you read about them.
I returned to work in September, when I worked full time at home with Henry by my side. In October Henry started day care and I returned to work progressively – two days the first week, three days the second week, four days the third. Then I returned to the office full time. But I still worked from home on Fridays, with Henry.
Because I need to be available for set, consecutive office hours, my Fridays with Henry will come to an end in May. My almost-one-year-old is active and engaging and, though capable of extended independent play, understands that our time together is supposed to be spent reading books, clapping, blowing raspberries, eating, and pressing, shaking, and hitting things that make noise.
Losing this day with him will be harder than it was sending him to day care for the first time. So I’ve taken off every Friday in April off to spend with him to ease the transition (or probably just make it harder).
As Henry’s first birthday approaches I’ve already found myself, daily, thinking about last year at this time. Remembering last May is hard. This May will be hard. And I’ll be in the office five days a week for it all.
Yesterday I had a meeting at a building beyond walking distance from Henry’s school. I was on Twitter when news broke about the bombings at the Boston Marathon, following reports as they came in. It didn’t occur to me to be scared for myself until a firetruck drove by, sirens on (I was across the street from the United Nations), as my Twitter feed began reporting increased security in New York City.
I left within minutes to go get my baby. I spent $15 on a cab instead of riding the subway, not because it was a faster way to get to point B (it wasn’t) but because I was scared, for the first time since I’ve lived in New York, to ride the subway.
**** you, bomber.