Venturing Out With a Newborn & Other Such Terrible Tales

While pregnant, I had delusions of grandeur about what I would do with the baby once she arrived. I was convinced that having a baby would not change my lifestyle in the least. Okay, maybe I wouldn't be able to go out so freely on Friday nights like I could pre baby, and maybe I wouldn't be able to make that last minute yoga class on a whim, but I was pretty confident that I would just strap the baby into the Ergo carrier, put her in the stroller, or buckle her into her car seat and off we would go on whatever adventure I felt like getting into on that particular day.

What an idiot.

From the moment we took her home from the hospital, I resigned myself to house arrest almost immediately. I knew that if I stepped foot even into something as mundane and uneventful as a grocery store, my little baby terrorist would pick that moment to begin screaming bloody murder. I was terrified of what people would think. I was incredibly sensitive to raised eyebrows, hen clucks of sympathy, and sighs of utter annoyance when my baby was anything less than the adorable newborn she was supposed to be. 

The husband took some time off from work to help out when Bug arrived, so we would alternate leaving the house. Oh, what a glorious hour it would be when I handed the baby over to my husband and stepped out into a world that smelled of fresh air rather than baby poop, into a store that had the aroma of anything but breast milk. I was a free wheeling woman who would take my time walking up and down every single aisle in the store just to maximize the few minutes of free time I had all to myself. 

Then the inevitable moment came when the husband had to return to work and I was forced to bring the baby everywhere I went if I did, indeed, wish to leave the house. For the first week I contemplated never leaving our abode again and ordered everything online. Eventually I began to fear that I was turning into a scary, socially awkward recluse. People would begin walking by my house and whispering about the crazy lady who never sees the light of day. Kids would stop trick or treating at my house out of sheer fear that even the promise of candy can't overcome. Rumors would circulate throughout the neighborhood about how I supposedly had a husband, baby and a dog that have mysteriously not been seen in years. So, if nothing more than just to maintain the appearance of normalcy, I decided to run errands with the baby terrorist.

We first hit up Costco. That went over quite well, actually. She may not be impressed by the beach and she couldn't care less about the San Diego scenery, but Costco....well, that's America. Endless consumerism in bulk? A baby's (and mommy's) dream come true! 

So, feeling quite bold and a tad reckless, I decided that I would venture into another institution that screams America, though not in such a good way. The United States Post Office. *Cue horror movie music here* Of course I decided to do such a daring jaunt in December, when Uncle Sam is very busy shipping and losing packages all throughout the country. So, as you can imagine, the line was incredibly long. Still feeling confident and very sure that I appeared to be very comfortable in this motherhood role, I fell into the line about 20 customers deep. And that's when I heard it.

The unmistakable whimper that you just know is going to escalate into a scream capable of shattering glass and popping eardrums began to find it's way out of the stroller. I think I went into a state of shock at first and looked around as if it had to be someone, anyone else's baby but mine. Once it was established that it was indeed my baby terrorist, I began to sweat profusely. My face turned beet red. I frantically put Baby Einstein on my iPhone and waved it in front of her face. I pulled her out of the stroller and bounced and shushed her, willing her to become the Happiest Baby on the Block (what a crock of you know what that is, by the way). I closed my eyes and pretended I was on a beach in Barbados, single and baby free without a care in the world and a cocktail in hand. Nothing worked. The terror level was raised to an alarming, get out now, an attack is imminent, RED. 

Looks were exchanged amongst the customers in line. Some looked at me as if I had no business having a baby. Others gave me sympathetic yet exasperated looks. And out of the fog emerged a saint. The woman in the front of the line turned to me and said firmly that she didn't think anyone would mind if I went first. She then gave a stern look to anyone who just might mind as if daring them to defy her sainthood. I very gratefully took her up on her offer and made a mental note that I will pay it forward, because she saved my life and my sanity in that very kind gesture.

That nice thought of mine was then followed up by a not so nice thought. I think there might be a mother daughter line cutting scam in our future. Hey. If you can't beat the terrorist, you might as well make it work to your advantage.