When we FINALLY get out of the house, we’ll go for a walk. Donned with baby dolls, bottles, bandanas, we go to the garden, to the local Italian shop to get some mozzarella, to visit our friends at Frankies.
I feel guilty that this is what an outing is for the girls and I. We are a bit limited: by nap times, not having a car, not having the energy. Then I see how much fun they can have with nothing but imagination. And I feel better. Then we spend a week on the beach and I see how much fun they have in nature and I feel guilty all over again.
It’s all in a days work for me. All dazed and worked up about our choice to raise kids in the city. I figure as long as we buy a place in the country, and for a few months out of the year, let them roam free like cattle, we can corral them back to our home in Brooklyn, and we’re all going to be ok.