Why you should never take your kid to cello class
This story is going to sound remarkably like the one where I took my kid to the anniversary dinner last Friday.
See, my boy is an angel...about 90% of the time. Whenever I leave him with my friend Rachel, he cuddles and coos and naps and causes no trouble. Whenever people stop by to say hello, he charms the stuffing out of them with his gurgles and adorable smile. Unfortunately, that other 10% of the time happens to coincide with times when it's Very Important that he be Quiet. Let's take Monday, for example. I was playing with a cellist in her studio class in preparation for a recital we're doing this weekend. I brought him with me because I figured oh, he's usually sleepy in the middle of the day, and after all, we're only playing for about 20 minutes. He'll be OK. Right. Baby Daniel squawked once during our rehearsal, but saved the big meltdown for later, when we were playing in front of the entire cello studio. He went from sleeping to full-out screaming in about ten seconds. He was obviously hungry (despite having nursed about 45 minutes before), so there was nothing to do but stop playing, re-arrange that day's schedule so that we would play last, and have me take the "shrieking sprog" out to the lobby where he at least wouldn't disturb so many people at once. Yeesh. Then, of course, he was cool as a cucumber from then until we resumed the piece in class an hour later; at least this time my friend picked him up to jiggle him a little and he was OK.
Everyone understands that three-month-old babies are unpredictable. No one blamed me. The cello professor was great about it and even gave the squirt a little Feldenkreis massage. But it still made me feel self-conscious and distracted. Boy, this parenting thing is going to be an interesting ride.
See, my boy is an angel...about 90% of the time. Whenever I leave him with my friend Rachel, he cuddles and coos and naps and causes no trouble. Whenever people stop by to say hello, he charms the stuffing out of them with his gurgles and adorable smile. Unfortunately, that other 10% of the time happens to coincide with times when it's Very Important that he be Quiet. Let's take Monday, for example. I was playing with a cellist in her studio class in preparation for a recital we're doing this weekend. I brought him with me because I figured oh, he's usually sleepy in the middle of the day, and after all, we're only playing for about 20 minutes. He'll be OK. Right. Baby Daniel squawked once during our rehearsal, but saved the big meltdown for later, when we were playing in front of the entire cello studio. He went from sleeping to full-out screaming in about ten seconds. He was obviously hungry (despite having nursed about 45 minutes before), so there was nothing to do but stop playing, re-arrange that day's schedule so that we would play last, and have me take the "shrieking sprog" out to the lobby where he at least wouldn't disturb so many people at once. Yeesh. Then, of course, he was cool as a cucumber from then until we resumed the piece in class an hour later; at least this time my friend picked him up to jiggle him a little and he was OK.
Everyone understands that three-month-old babies are unpredictable. No one blamed me. The cello professor was great about it and even gave the squirt a little Feldenkreis massage. But it still made me feel self-conscious and distracted. Boy, this parenting thing is going to be an interesting ride.
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