I’ve decided two things.
One, Robert now walks like Vincent D’Onofrio in MEN IN BLACK. Both of them lurch forward, tilt sideways, and flail their right arms wildly like a hopped-up drum major to balance a body they’re not yet accustomed to piloting.
Two, Saturdays at the playground have a markedly different feel, thanks to all the working fathers who are spelling the moms for a couple of hours. Weekdays are fine enough; I can hold my own in a dialogue about Robert’s eating habits or the importance of flexible soles on a first pair of shoes. But today, I spent about an hour discussing college football, the Brooklyn Cyclones, even a little shop talk about my old line of work. And it was exhilarating, since most moms and nannies really don't give a shit whether Miami joins the ACC.
In keeping with the day’s theme, Robert and I flopped on the couch, beverages in hand, and watched some U.S. Open golf. He spent more time gnawing on the remote control than appreciating the thickness of the secondary cut, but the bond was palpable.
