Apparently you’re not supposed to take a baby on the subway for a solid two months after they’re born. Not because their fragile heads might bounce off from all the herky-jerky movement, although to these eyes that seems like a real possibility; but because they’re are too many germs on the subway.
Come on. The kid’s growing up in New York City, at least at first. Plus, he lives on the planet earth. Germs are unavoidable.
I don’t expect to be the most protective dad in the world. I’m not one to police my pregnant wife’s intake of soft cheeses, deli meats, mercury-laden shark filets or Grey Goose martinis. It’s her life, it’s her body, and let’s be honest, having a baby is like a box of chocolates. At some point you’re gonna get sticky brown goo all over your hands and there’s nothing you can do about it.
I’m not about to feed my baby to the wolves, but all this hysteria over what’s bad for baby has got to stop. Jesus was born in a barn surrounded by filthy, dirty livestock. And that’s just the three wise men! (BOOM!) I haven’t even mentioned all the camels and sheep and whatever the hell else made up the figurine manger I used to put out at Christmas and thus amounts to the entirety of my awareness of what was actually going on during the Immaculate Expulsion.
Baby’s gonna get dirty, baby’s gonna get sick, baby’s gonna get hurt. It’s the facts of life. Unless you plan to quarantine your kid until he hits puberty, it’s for the benefit of everyone if you just relax a little bit.