We went out for the afternoon, the three of us. Father, mother, babe & an unholy amount of baby gear ranging from transportation to distraction. We went out because it was a nice day & because we needed to get out of the basement. I like my flat quite a bit, but my enjoyment doesn't change the need for sunlight once in awhile. It is, after all, squatting in a cave.

We had a very tiring night last night. A Catholic confirmation, a night that started with Very Bad Church (by which I mean a fantastically uninspiring service) and ended with a gathering at my cousins' house. The confirmand's estranged parents were both there and my son was terrifically cranky, so it was very tense. I'm quite sure that Blake later dreamed of grabbing hands, loud voices & very bright lights. Poor sweet little guy. And yet there was an ungracious stirring in me as well, something that secretly wished him to show everyone how adorable he could be rather than skulking & muttering & frowning to himself as he was passed through the multitude. I also felt unreasonably guilty that I couldn't soothe him.

This morning he was wonderful, though, and we took him off to a job fair in high spirits. He, of course, fell asleep in the car. As we rolled through Zellers, a woman diverted to look in the stroller.

"That's the best age!" she trumpeted. "He just sleeps! I bet you guys don't keep it quiet at home!" By now she was actually following us, yelling cheerfully as we walked away & murmured agreements. "Wow, he can sleep through anything!" Uh, yeah. Obviously.

He didn't wake up and start fussing until we got to the shoe store. Lifting him up, we discovered a maraca under his bottom. Worst. Parents. EVER. And even worse that we found it hilarious.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 5/05/2004 09:11:00 p.m.