(Eleanor’s here today, Eleanor’s here today! We’re all so glad that Eleanor’s here, let’s all shout Hooray!)
The first time I went to a library storytime, Eleanor was three months old.
It was terrifying.
We sang six songs and read three books in 20 minutes. We sat in a circle in the children’s library in the downtown Central Branch of the Denver Public Library. We sang a song to welcome each child to the group. We waved scarves while playing with egg shakers and bouncing our children and clapping their hands and stomping their feet. And after it was all over, the man leading the group unlocked a cabinet where several tubs of plastic toys were stored and proceeded to dump the toys onto the floor. The older babies eagerly creeped, crawled and walked over to the toys. Eleanor stared at everyone and occasionally smiled. I held my breath and considered my exit.
I didn’t know we were going to have to sing songs, and I certainly didn’t know anyone would be focusing on me or my daughter. I enjoy attention, but on my terms. And my terms never include singing in public.
That first storytime may have been the most intimidating, overwhelming experience of my life. I’m not joking. I felt like my life was on fast forward and I had no control over the remote. Or, you could say, I felt like I was a step behind everyone else -- I was trying to learn the songs and sing them at the same time as trying to master the motions and manage Eleanor, too.
(All around the cobbler's bench, the monkey chased the weasel...)
And through it all, I had a sinking feeling: if this was what I was supposed to be doing at home in terms of baby stimulation, I was failing badly. (This sinking feeling recurs repeatedly, no matter how many months pass in my life as a dad).
Eleanor was the youngest baby there by a few months. After the chaos was over I understood why. Not for Eleanor’s sake -- she seemed to enjoy it -- but for mine. I was exhausted (and, truthfully, so was Eleanor -- she fell asleep before we even left the children’s section of the library).
I clearly wasn’t ready for parental socialization. Because that’s what it is when you have really young babies. In a way, much of what you do as a parent in public, at first, is try to connect with other parents, because they know what you’re feeling and they’re just as scared as you are. That’s a comforting feeling when you have no idea what you’re doing.
I felt awkward bringing such a young baby, but I was determined to make this stay-at-home dad thing work, and to do so I needed activities, structures that gave me something to do and look forward to.
(The noble Duke of York, he had 10,000 men, he marched them up to the top of the hill and he marched them down again!)
Back then (six months equals two-thirds of Eleanor’s life, so I reserve the right to use such a qualifier), I had a calendar and everything: Mondays we went to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, Tuesdays it was storytime, Wednesdays were for walks, Thursdays were for the Zoo, and Fridays meant that it was time for the Meetup playgroup.
That schedule lasted for about two weeks, because, well, I had a baby who has her own mind and wanted to do things at her own pace and in her own time. I couldn’t go to storytime if Eleanor was napping. I couldn’t make the playgroup if I was meeting my wife at work for Eleanor’s lunchtime feeding. I couldn’t go to the zoo if it was 15 degrees outside.
But this isn’t really a story about how scary library storytime is. It’s really about how much I love storytime and the Denver Public Library system.
(Zoom, Zoom, Zoom! We’re going to the moon! Zoom, Zoom, Zoom, we’ll get there very soon!)
It took a couple more months of adjustment (Eleanor's and mine), particularly in the nap department, but now storytime is an essential part of my life and my daughter’s life. We both look forward to it. So much so, that I am pretty sure that my daughter’s first word (aside from her indiscriminate use of “mama” and “dada”) is “library.” She usually says this word -- or something approximating it -- on Mondays. It’s like she’s anticipating the Tuesday adventure we go on every week.
Nine times out of ten, I’m the only man there, aside from Mr. Chufo, the kindhearted, bilingual, guitar-playing leader of storytime. Oddly enough, it’s also one of the only places where I am in the stay-at-home dad role but no-one seems to find it “odd,” or “different,” or “great” that I am taking care of my daughter while my wife works. At storytime, we’re all just parents, trying to do the best for our children and to reach out in solidarity.
Now, I feel like an old pro at storytime. I see new parents in the circle every once in awhile, and I understand how they feel. Eleanor’s practically a veteran, too, and she loves it. She has a smile on her face the whole time, whether she has napped well that morning or not. She likes interacting with the other 6- to 9-month-olds -- she even steals their toys...I remember when she was younger and the tables were turned.
The library is a glorious place, and it feels like a second home to me as a stay-at-home parent. There are no words for how much I appreciate having a (free) place to take Eleanor where she can be safe, stimulated and happy interacting with other babies. And before storytime starts, I love trawling through the stacks, looking for cool books I can read to her at home and for books that will satisfy my own intellectual curiosity.
Every week, I look forward to Tuesday. I’m ready, now. Singing six songs and reading three books in half an hour? No problem.
(I’m a book baby, book baby, I love to read! Read at the library!)
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