Wednesday, December 9, 2009
It Takes a Real Dad to Folk Dance with his Four-Month-Old Daughter
When you're staying home taking care of your daughter, you learn something really fast—that you can't stay home all the time with your daughter or you'll go completely mad. Between the crying and the crying and the crying I had to just get out of there. Not so fast. It was February and it was cold out there. Really cold. So that limited me to indoor activities such as Story times at the local library, coffee shops with free wifi, and random walk-in classes to socialize my infant.
My wife had told me about this "Movement Class," I could take the Bean to in the neighborhood. It sounded interesting. Sounded interesting. So after I changed the Bean's diaper and bottle fed her with Brooke's handy dandy breast milk, I dressed the Bean up in a billion layers and topped off her sassy infant ensemble with her pink bear snowsuit, the one with the cute little fuzzy wuzzy ears. You know the one.
The Bean hated sitting still, so I plopped her in the Snap and Go and we stormed out of there. A few blocks (of sniffling) later, I arrived at the place where my life would change forever. When I walked into the room I saw one woman and her daughter and I spotted another woman with her daughter and there were a few other women with their boys, and then there was me. The only guy in the house. Oh, and I forget to mention, one of those women (my future folk dance partner) was nursing right there in front of everybody. Boobs out. (Big boobs.) She didn't care. The other mother's didn't care. So I didn't care.
“Okay, mothers and… father,” the teacher said. “I want you to pick up your baby, extend your arms up, and touch the sky.” Movement class was now in session.
Words can't describe what I experienced that day. Fortunately (or unfortunately) somebody taped me and my precious little Bean. And you know what? I'm glad they did. 'Cause not for nothing, we looked pretty good out there, doing whatever the hell we were doing.
p.s. I went back twice.