November 6: Day 4
Audrey and I head to music class. Kirsten took her to the first seven; I am taking her to the final three. As we enter, the moms in the class look over at me, then down at the stroller.
"Hi, Audrey!" they say in unison. "Hi," I say. "My name's Bob." "We'll just call you Mr. Audrey!" one mom says.
The blood rushes to my face. Was Kirsten called Ms. Audrey? I don't think so. When I get home, I call my sister and tell her what happened. "Don't sweat it," she replies. "It's Audrey's music class. You're just her assistant." I can't argue with that.
In the class, the adults rock the babies, singing and helping them clap and play with rattles. The babies stare up at them with alternating wonder and confusion. And then, in the midst of a not terribly exciting experience, I notice that Audrey is sitting up on her own, much better than she was doing at home. Maybe it's because she sees other babies doing it, or maybe she's so distracted that she's not thinking about sitting as much as doing it. But I'm elated.
It's a huge moment for Audrey. And for Mr. Audrey, too. The politics of parenting, I'm learning, play second fiddle to the baby. I shouldn't let my role upstage hers.