I sometimes have trouble talking myself into getting out of the house. I am an extreme homebody — my feeling is, if what I really want to do is spend my time making my home a comfortable place filled with lovely things and delicious food, with a beautiful and productive garden — why wouldn’t I want to stay there all the time?
But I’m not in my comfortable home; I’m in a tiny furnished apartment in Northern Virginia with a postage-stamp kitchen and a half-a-postage-stamp deck that we aren’t allowed so much as a potted geranium on. Which is ridiculous and infuriating, but this post isn’t about how silly my apartment is because then I’d have to get into how terrible our “free” “high-speed” “internet” is here and I’m trying to talk about my good day.
My point being, it is sometimes hard for me to get up the gumption to a) dress the baby, b) dress myself, c) find my keys and wallet and phone and camera from the four winds that Badger strewed them to (yes I know this is my own fault and possibly bad English), d) pack and re-check and one-last-check the diaper bag, e) gin up some kind of picnic lunch and f) slather the baby and myself with sunblock to go for a walk that sometimes ends in a total meltdown 50 yards from our door because I won’t let her take all the playground balls out of the display at the CVS (those playground ball displays are a public menace and I’m thinking about getting up a petition against them).
But every so often it pays off in spades and I remember that I am responsible for the day of a little person who loves nothing better than to get out and see anything, everything, especially if it’s people or dogs or can be climbed on.
We went to the Container Store to buy a new toybox — all good (although the Container Store is not as good a place to take a baby as you might think). Then we went to a playground next-door — score; lots of kids and two slides. No meltdown when we left to look at books at the Barnes and Noble — more kids, plenty of books and although there was a book-throwing incident that’s best forgotten (and of course I bought a book because I can’t walk out of a bookstore without one), still no meltdown. Then (!!) we went to Whole Foods because Long-Suffering Husband decided what we absolutely needed in our life was some home-cured bacon and thus needed pork belly. Also we were low on veg.
Badger is not a lover of grocery shopping, or at least of sitting in the cart and not running around throwing glass jars on the floor. There was no pork belly but not only did we escape the Whole Foods spending less than $25, Badger mostly sat in the cart and did not freak out (hot tip: heading to the pet food aisle to poke at bags and holler “Puppy!” and “Cat!” for a few minutes helps).
Then (!!!) we got in the car and went home. I half suspected she’d fall asleep in the car seat, but she sat back there more or less contentedly, demanding very cheerfully that I sing Old MacDonald only about a dozen times over.
I’m not going to say the rest of the afternoon was perfect — there was a dinner flinging incident that wasn’t anybody’s shining moment. But we all lived, and SOME BABIES went to bed at 6:30, fully 1 hour before regular bedtime, thus giving me one free hour to come here and tell you all about my good day. May there be many more.