It's Pretty Soon To When I Get Here

After considerable self-analysis, I am vowing never to vow anything again. I'm just not good at it. Example: Years ago, after attending my 185,422nd baby shower, I vowed that I was never stepping foot in a Babies 'R' Us store again. This rash statement was made after spending 3 hours wandering around looking for Fairy Princess Baby Girl Burp Cloth # 12-B17. I had a headache, had lost one of my contact lenses, and was with my husband, who transformed into Joseph Stalin upon crossing the threshold.

I shared these feelings with several friends, stating piously that no one needed 6 rows of receiving blankets to choose from - simplicity is best! - and that Target alone would be enough for me. Each friend smiled knowingly, patted me on the knee, and declared that I would most certainly change my mind when I had my own papoose on the way. This only stirred the fires of my hatred for this store. It now represented everything that was wrong with humanity with it's excess, it's anxiety-inducing safety equipment, and it's row upon row of hideous plastic toys. I referred to it only as The Bad Store and it became my mission to prove that one could actually birth a child in this country without registering there. I succeeded and marveled at my own asceticism as I proudly stacked my Target gift receipts.

And then it happened. I foolishly tried to buy a changing pad from Target. Apparently Target babies don't get their diapers changed, because 7 weeks and 12 stores later I was still changing Andrew on the floor. They also carried only 3 pieces of boy clothing, had never heard of burp cloths, and mysteriously cancelled one of my online orders. I hated Target.

Out of desperation, I sheepishly entered The Bad Store, and as the electric doors parted, angels sang. This store was amazing! I skipped through row upon row of beautiful receiving blankets. I spent hours perusing the boy clothes. They even had changing pads! Lots of changing pads! I took a moment to mourn the glorious items I might have requested had it not been for my pride, then moved on to caress the diaper bags.

Instead of learning my lesson, I vowed in deep and ominous tones that I was never going to own one of those wretched Excersaucers. Only a real git would allow their entire living space to be eaten by one of those disgusting toys. Now look to your left (my right, as I am actually inside your computer right now). My dear friends Allen and Gillian parted with their very own piece of odious plastic and it now sits proudly wedged in the doorway between our kitchen and the dining room. (I tried but failed to think of a more awkward place to put it.) Now, instead of holding Andrew on my hip while cooking molten hot meals, I put him here, in his lab, where he gets a very serious look on his face and swivels around in his seat, pushing a variety of buttons and pausing only to deeply contemplate his next move. I can almost hear his thoughts: If I could just get my hands on Mommy's iPod, a bit of string, and the antenna from my monitor, then my time machine would be complete.

Side note. We love the Peabodys (that would be Allen and Gillian). They not only have lent us a considerable load of baby paraphernalia (including the totally fly onesie Andrew is sporting at the top of this post), but have also been the kind of dear friends to us that make Atlanta feel like home. Allen is in medical school and has just finished interviewing for his residency placement. I have just discovered that they have yet to decide which location to rank as their #1 choice, and I'm thinking Atlanta's the ticket. I feel this so strongly that I've decided to write the haiku in their honor in a shameless attempt to sway their decision.

Peabody don't leave

Vanderbilt's a sack of trash

We'll bake you a cake

I encourage all of you out there who know and love the Peabodys to post your own haiku. Actually, even if you've never met Allen and Gillian and you think Peabody sounds like a made-up last name, feel free to contribute. Don't been intimidated by mine, which I realize is quite good. All that is involved in haiku-making is 3 lines, the first being 5 syllables long, the second 7, and the third 5. Now off with you, laddies, and be lively.