When my son was born last summer, I’d spend many mornings–sometimes as early as 6am–walking around the neighborhood with him in a sling, trying to get him to stop crying. He was a pretty fussy baby, but being outside calmed him. I must have looked awful–I was completely sleep-deprived and could barely put one foot in front of the other. I remember one morning when a worker arranging produce at a nearby deli asked if I needed help. Did I really look that overwhelmed? Still, I felt lucky that my son was born when it was warm out. I didn’t know what I would have done had we been trapped inside all winter.
Now that spring is here and it’s nice out again, we’re resuming our morning walks–but this time it’s different. He’s not crying and I’m not desperate. He’s simply a curious 11-month old who wakes up early and loves exploring the world around him and I a much calmer and well-rested mom who loves sharing it with him (and needs a way to kill some time before his morning nap). And we leave the house at a slightly more reasonable hour.
I look forward to this time with him–there’s a special quality to the early morning light and the sidewalks are empty minus a few commuters and people walking their dogs. My son watches excitedly from his perch in his carrier (wearing just his pajamas–warm weather means no need to worry about a hat or jacket) as the neighborhood gears up for the day, school buses zoom by, and trucks unload their morning deliveries. When we stop in at my favorite coffee shop, he loves watching the fan whirl overhead as I chat with the woman behind the counter.
It’s a slice of relative peace and quiet in a city that’s usually bustling. And it’s my favorite time of day. Sure, I sometimes wish my son was one of those marathon sleepers that doesn’t wake until 7:30am. But when he’s older, I know I’ll look back on these early morning walks–both the first angst-filled ones when he was a newborn and the ones I so enjoy with him now–and miss them.
