Young Man's Game

 So yesterday D1 tasked me with spending a few hours with the hilarious toddler. She has a nanny, who is most capable of watching both kids, but thought it might be nice to take out the little man, while she and D2 had a breakfast with Rachel, a dear mutual friend. Wifey doesn't "do mornings," but I do, and so agreed. It was delightful. It was also instructive. Any thoughts or fantasies I may have harbored about Chapter 2 fatherhood vanished into the ether.

It wasn't particularly strenuous. First Joey suggested I might take him to the local driving range, to hit a bucket of balls, but then I remembered I really don't like golf. The little guy does, and if my future involves watching him play on an organized level, I will proudly do so. But to me -- eh. I tried playing years ago, when Eric returned from Boston having taken it up, and for several months we played with our friend Pete and his law partner Gene. Within a few months, I ended up being the golf cart driver -- feeling like Furio, in the Sopranos, that it was a stupida f-ing game.

So no golf. I decided instead on a trip to Target, to pick out some toys for the little man and his baby brother. I also found a lovely T shirt for the nanny -- her first Canes swag -- she appreciated it. After Target, where we picked a truck, a small train, and some creature that dances from "Frozen," it was off to Bagel Bar East, for a Pesach violating breakfast.

We ordered two bagels with nova and cream cheese. The little guy polished his off, to the amazement of the waiter, two old guys at the next table, and a young trainer one table behind us. "Man -- he KILLED it!," said the young fellow.

Barry tells me that the sins of Jewish boys under 13 must be borne by their fathers, so, sorry Joey. He DOES keep kosher during Passover in the house, so hopefully the Big Man understands.

Stop 3 was Starbucks, in Miami Shores. They know him there -- he always gets a pink cake pop and "Cafe especial," which is steamed oat milk. I guess because it was Good Friday, the place was packed. I picked up the pop, he got a can of agua con gas (seltzer) and I lied to him that the "machine was broken," rather than wait in a packed place with a toddler for the order. He was momentarily unhappy, but soon got over it.

Next stop, since a Dad is always a Dad, was to fill up D1's SUV, which I noticed had less than half a tank. My Ds like me.

We went home, and the Little Man played with his new toys while the nanny fed and coddled the baby brother, who is adorable and amazingly easy. We joke with D1 and Joey that they had their kids in reverse from Wifey and me: D1 was so chill, and D2 a challenge. They seem to have it opposite -- and of course -the toddler is so disarmingly adorable, he gets away with everything -- just like his Tia did.

I had to wait for D1 to return, since we had switched vehicles for car seat purposes, and the little man and I watched TV -- Muppet Babies in Spanish! Who knew? I noted that Kermit was less wimpy in Spanish.

When he watches TV, he actually lets you pet him, and I stroked his arm and head while we watched. Then I taught him how to turn a yawn into a dinosaur roar, and we both laughed together. A lot.

So it was a delightful time, but when I got home, I fell into a deep nap. Man -- toddler watching is tiring!

I know plenty of older Dads, and many have the resources to have a staff. Our former next door neighbors were a lawyer my age with 2 grown kids, who then adopted his 30 year younger wife's son, and added 4 more kids!

Power to you, Mr. A! As for this aging fellow, occasional toddler/babysitting is plenty. Even with a staff, you worry. Holding hands in parking lots. Constantly watching out for dangers.

Stuff is TIRING!

I leave it to the younger guys.