After visiting with three couple friends of ours with kids in the past two days and spending this morning immersed in this awesome manic mecca, I am starting to get how much confidence (craziness?) it takes to raise a baby in a city as dense and intense as New York. Some of our friends live in one bedrooms and have completely given over the bedroom to the baby for the sake of wakeless nights. Their clutter was making me anxious and overwhelmingly appreciative of our washer/dryer.
Then again, the constant frenetic pace does have its benefits. Since I haven't touched any of the work out gear that I laughingly toted along, it's fun in a masochistic way to test my She-Ra power lugging the baby, plus stroller, plus (slightly less gigantic than in previous infant stages but still relatively large) bag of crap up the multiple flights of stairs that exist in every single building. Why is nothing ever on one level in this city and how did I never notice that before? Being here makes me realize once again that San Francisco, particularly the little corner of the 7x7 that we occupy, is hardly a city at all.
Despite all the difficulties, I can't help but think how cool it would be to grow up right on these crowded blocks. These kids are exposed to so much just walking out the front door. Art, music, speech and all other forms of creative expression are in your face here-you practically have to go out of your way to avoid them. Literally, I have been crossing streets to avoid the big crowds around street performers and various occupiers. Speaking of kids + art, tomorrow I think I may take Mr. Monk here. Why not let him explore his inner Picasso, especially when someone else is on clean up duty. Or maybe the mister and I will leave the babe with his grammy and go have ourselves some museum fun.
The ground, pre washing by Mr. Monk's tongue