My Sitter, My Yogi

Note the happy and blissed out expression on my face. Now, notice that it is NOT my mom sitting next to me. Why? Well, dear reader(s), this is my zen master, my yogi, my teacher, my spiritual guide...Nicole. My mother (who is quite limited in her understanding of spiritual awareness) mistakenly calls her my babysitter.

Nicole comes to see me every Tuesday for a few hours. Usually, I am asleep when she arrives and when I wake up...she magically appears. We hang out, play with my wide array of toys and generally contemplate deeper issues of inner peace. My mom returns a few hours later after running errands. Can you believe that she actually claims there are places that she cannot bring a baby? Ridiculous!

But I digress...when my mom returns, I am blissed out and peaceful thanks to Nicole. Of course, this tranquility only lasts a few hours because, eventually, dinner comes along and then....well, its time to start screaming for food. Of course, Dad comes home around that time and I have to get amped up to tell him all about my day.

However, Tuesday afternoons are Saxontime. No cut throat scurrying for swings at the playground. No one judging me by what I drive (i.e. my stroller). No social insecurity that other babies are staring at my water soaked diaper after I sit in the park fountain. Nicole accepts me for who I am...a Brooklyn baby looking for serenity now.