I went to New York City
over the first weekend in December, to attend a baby shower for the first baby of one of my college friends.
A. was actually one of the first people I met in college—she was my RA, and signed me in when Dad dropped me off.
It was a growing experience for both of us—me and Dad, that is—because I found myself installed on a co-ed floor (shared bathroom!) and Dad found himself needing to be polite to someone who, well within her rights, was chewing gum in his presence.
Dad had some idiosyncrasies, and expecting the world to not make small repetitive noises just because they irritated him was one of them.
I remember being impressed that he didn’t even glare at her, leaving her to wonder why this complete stranger was judging her for some mysterious reason.
No, he tucked away his irritation in a way that some might even have interpreted as a lack of concern.
Anyway, A. and her husband J. are expecting a little girl at the end of January, and I was thrilled, in the midst of our busy fall of sitting around waiting to move back into our house, to have the time to visit and attend the shower. I was only able to stay two nights, however, and so (and here is the confession) I didn’t contact any other of my NYC friends.
This was a difficult choice to make, and I felt bad about it for awhile, but it was ultimately the only thing I could’ve done. I had not gone to NYC alone—two other college friends, L. and C., also came, and between the four of us (five if you count baby Ribbet, her in-utero name; six if you count J.) we had plenty to do to keep us busy.
So, if you live in NYC and you missed me December 1st, I do apologize, and I’ll plan many more days for my next trip.