Yesterday Mr. Bunny and I were taking a walk around the neighborhood as we often do in the early evening, and he floated the idea of stopping by a local bar and having a drink. (Yes, I have the occasional drink despite being a nursing mother. If my pediatrician says it’s okay, it’s okay. Leave me alone.) I thought that sounded good, so we extended our normal route in that direction. But about a block away, I stopped. The idea of taking Bun Bun into an actual Place for Adults suddenly seemed crazy. For one thing, our water had been shut off due to a water main repair, so I’d sacrificed sleep to get up and shower before the shut off and was therefore cranky, while Mr. Bunny was grubby and disheveled…and therefore cranky. And I was wearing ratty flip flops and hadn’t brushed my hair since that morning, and Bun Bun was in the Moby, and I knew as soon as I sat down she’d wake up and start fussing, and it was getting on towards time to feed her again… So we headed home.
I know that eventually we’ll have to take her places (I mean, other than stopping by the falafel joint to pick up an order, or going to the grocery store, which is pretty much all we’ve done with her), because otherwise she’ll grow up a bit defective. But for some reason, it’s a big leap for me. I guess I’m afraid that she’ll start shrieking and Child Protective Services will show up, and possibly also a S.W.A.T. team. Or maybe I’m afraid that someone will glare at me and shout GET THAT BABY OUT OF HERE, pointing to a sign on the wall that reads ABSOLUTELY NO BABIES ALLOWED. And then she’ll make this face:
|Even me? I’m a VERY GOOD baby.|
And then we’ll scurry home with her, and she’ll make this face:
|Home is the SHIT! Don’t ever take me out again.|
So I don’t know. I guess eventually she’ll be a teenager and won’t want to go places with us anyway. Problem solved.