How Do You Celebrate New Years With An Infant?

"I'll be no where near here on New Year's Eve."

Timothy A. Clary, AFP/Getty Images

New Year's Eve always seems to be a let down for me. Whether it was having to go to bed too early as a kid, or my parents making me stay home while all my high school friends went to Times Square, I always felt like somewhere other than where I was, people were having a lot more fun than me.

The one exception was New Year's 2005 when my wife and I saw The Killers perform at the Giant Village event in Los Angeles. That was pretty cool. But apart from that, my New Year's Eves have been marked by sitting in front of a TV watching other people go nuts at raucous parties around the world.

Last year was my last chance to do it up big time before fatherhood, so I went with my 8-month pregnant wife to a New Year's party in downtown Washington, D.C. We got to the restaurant at 7:30 p.m. (the early seating) and were promptly told that our table needed to be vacated by 9:30 p.m. (the later seating). This meant they were clearing the plates as fast as we could eat -- not what you'd call fine dining.

After dinner, we headed downstairs to the restaurant's club. It was basically empty at 9:31 p.m save for the cheesy party lights, a foul smelling fog machine and a sparse crowd of clueless early birds like ourselves. I was a little nervous about how my wife would hold up on the dance floor. I was imagining the worst, like if her water broke or something like that (I hope that video isn't real). Fortunately, that was one scenario I didn't have to face.

About an hour and half later, my wife's feet were killing her, and it was clear coming was a bad decision. That notion was confirmed moments later when we spotted the gross used car salesman whom we had met the week before. He was trying to talk up some ladies at the bar. Check please! We made our way for the door, only to be met by a mass of partygoers who were now swarming the entranceway. It was the first time I had to fight my way to get to the BACK of the line at a club. We did however make it home well in time to watch the ball drop from our couch, which wound up being far more romantic anyway.

As predicted, the birth of our daughter also brought along the demise of our late nights out. With the cost of babysitters obscenely high these days, more often than not, my wife and I tend to go out early and take the baby with us. Saturday night dinners used to start at 8:00 p.m. and last long into the night while we lingered over a good bottle of wine. Now we rub achy joints with the geriatric crowd. Getting seated at 4:45 p.m. means we can still make it home for our daughter's bedtime.

Luckily, this New Year's Eve our friends who also have a baby came up with an ingenious plan: In honor of the husband's Northern Irish roots, we'll be throwing confetti at the same time as his mates in Belfast (which is at precisely 7:00pm ET). So I'll have my champagne and maybe a shot of Irish whiskey as well, and still have my daughter in bed by a decent hour. I'm wondering, do you think she'd appreciate a mirrored ball hanging above her crib, you know kind of like a New Years mobile?

4:15 PM ET | 12-30-2008 | permalink

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