Abby was a butterfly. She was also sick with a cold, so she didn’t do a whole lot of trick-or-treating. And she is 5 months old, which means that I would have to be a bit of a knob to take her with a bag duct-taped to her arm so that I could bilk the neighbours out of candy, but that didn’t stop some of the people in the subdivision from doing just that with their sub-1-year-old children (you know who you are with the kangaroo baby; shame on you!).
Also, you shouldn’t be asking for candy from me if you are old enough to text while you are doing it.
Erin (a Mac alumni) went to the McMaster-Queen’s football game with her parents (proud Queen’s graduates) on Saturday. That meant that I got to hang out with Abby for a few hours all by myself. Long stretches of daddy-daughter time are hard to come by at this age (since I can only lactate a little), so I relished the fact that Abby and I could walk around Westdale together in the crisp fall air. Strapped into the Ergo, Abby even let me eat lunch while I was walking to the school to rendezvous with my wife. Then we found a quiet hall in the student centre and had a nap together. My baby is awesome.
Broken Social Boundaries
After meeting up with Erin, I passed Abby off to go hit up the nearest washroom; I really didn’t want to use a urinal with my baby strapped to my chest. I kept my Ergo carrier on, however, and pretended that it was a weird backpack.
So I was particularly surprised when an older gentleman started to talk to me while I was peeing.
“That must be your baby out there with your wife,” he said, sidling up to a nearby urinal. “Fancy carrier you have there.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, somewhat flustered and trying to concentrate on not moistening my shoes.
“I wish they had those when my kids were little. I have three grandkids now, but boy does it seem like it was just yesterday that my kids were the size of your little one. Time goes by fast—” (I’m still peeing right now, by the way, and so is the other guy as far as I can tell without looking.) “—and I can tell you that it really does. It really does. You just blink and it’s done.” (Shaking off.) “And then you see your own kids in those new little ones—” (Zipping up.) “—and you say to yourself, ‘Where did that time go? Where?’” (Debating whether or not to wash up. Bacterial infection or extreme awkwardness with strangers? What’s worse, really?) “So you just hang on tight to that little one of yours, you hear me?”
“Got it!” I holler back through the door as I hurry out, drying my hands on my pants.
Call me grump, but I never again want to hear the sound of another man’s voice while my pants are undone.