Slowing Down with a Baby

A New Parent Drops Out of the Active Boulder Summer Life

By Jenny Shank , 7-10-06

	Gratuitous baby photo.

During the summertime in Boulder, there's no reason to ever be indoors when you're not at work. The bike paths teem with cyclists, the farmer's market bustles, the hiking trails and climbing areas are packed, and there are plenty of restaurants and bars with outdoor patios. Unless you have a four-week-old baby: New parenthood has confined me inside the house, causing me to spend most of the summer, so far, on the couch. This lassitude feels kind of dirty, especially since I have a clear view of one of the busiest sections of the bike path out of my living room window, and I can see fit people in exercise gear walking, running, and cycling at all hours of the day. I'm living in one of the healthiest towns in America, and I'm watching the activity like it's TV.

I've vowed, at the very least, not to succumb to the tawdry allure of daytime television. (Okay, I had the Tyra show on in the background the other day while I fed the baby--but that was only after I'd read to her for an hour from the mind-enhancing fiction of Thomas McGuane and her neurons were obviously over-stimulated.)

I feel as though I'm living in a parallel, indoor universe while the summer proceeds outside without me. If I want to get any sleep at all, I have to go to bed before the sun goes down on these long summer evenings, and I have to take naps whenever the baby sleeps, usually in the middle of the day. I vowed as soon as I was done being pregnant, one of the first things I'd do was go to some outdoor bar and enjoy a mojito--but so far on a good day a big accomplishment is managing to take a shower. And the thought of indulging in alcohol isn't as appealing when I know that my daughter will take a shot of whatever I drink when I nurse her.

The new parent paranoia has hit me hard as well: I have to be careful not to take my daughter out when it's too hot, the sun is too intense, there are too many mosquitoes, or when the darkening clouds signal the potential for a hail storm. I was nonchalant about West Nile virus infection when it was only myself I was worried about. Now I stew and fret over the charming stream that runs outside our condo--it likely breeds mosquitoes and attracts vermin that could harm my little one. Do those ducks have rabies?

And all those people roaming the bike path at all hours: Why do they all look like axe murderers and criminally-insane baby snatchers now? And shouldn't they be at work? Why did all the harmless-looking people disappear the moment I brought my baby home? I read in the home owners association meeting minutes--yes, I'm reading the HOA minutes now--that one renter in our condo complex has a pit bull that attacked another resident recently. I'm thinking of investing in beefed-up security doors and maybe a can of bear repellant, because it's a mad, mad, mad world out there.

I spent the Fourth of July in a way I've never observed the holiday before: On the couch, alternately feeding and attempting to soothe my fussy infant. My husband was determined for us to leave the house to go see the fireworks at Folsom Field. The idea sounded too daunting for me as I lounged on the couch in a crabby stupor, having scored barely two consecutive hours of sleep the night before. It rained for a few hours that evening, no doubt fomenting all manner of water-borne pestilence. Still, we strapped the baby into the stroller despite her screams, and walked with her to the stadium. We had to endure an hour-long performance of a mediocre local cover band before the fireworks would start, the stadium was probably packed with child molesters, and I knew the kid was going to freak out any minute.

Miraculously, she stopped fussing once I fed her, and she slept through the entire ear-blasting fireworks display. Sure, she woke up afterward when we had to strap her into the apparently torturous stroller again, and screamed her head off during the entire half-hour walk home, signaling to all around us that a couple of bad parents with an ill-mannered infant were coming through. But the point is, for those brief hours, I had gotten off the couch and out into Boulder, and while the firecrackers blasted overhead and illuminated my baby's face with waves of red, white, and blue light, it felt something like summertime for a moment.

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