When you find out you’re going to have a baby, a few things happen:
1. You wash your hands, because they’re probably covered in pee, or at least they were pee-adjacent.
2. You celebrate, etc. Maybe you take a picture of the thing you peed on, because this is 2014 and what don’t you take a picture of these days? (For the record, I did not take a picture of my pregnancy test. I needed to save space on my phone for pictures of Ike pooping, which I sometimes like to send to Y while he’s at work because… well, I’m not sure.)
3. You realize OH SHIT I’M NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO DO ANYTHING FUN ANYMORE.
4. You realize OH WAIT I NEVER DID ANYTHING FUN IN THE FIRST PLACE.
What we do for fun: selfies on the couch.
And then if you’re me, you start documenting your weekends because, incredibly exciting or comfortably mundane, you know you’re going to miss them. Just a little.
A typical child-free weekend, part 1.
Friday night: We’re invited to a friend’s house for pizza. Some of us drink whiskey, some of us eat 6 pieces of pizza, and then Y starts telling a story from his childhood that sounds too interesting to be true. So, when he’s not looking, I text his mom. The answer comes while Y is in the bathroom –“he’s actually just remembering a story we told him, he wasn’t actually there.” When Y returns, we press him for more details, which he starts to tell us before we dissolve into laughter. Caught.
Saturday: Y works until noon or so, and when he gets home I remind him that we’ve been invited to a concert. Y sighs heavily (I’ve borrowed a line from New Girl and like to tell him “You sigh constantly! You sigh like you are the President of the United States and you are deciding if you want to declare war!“) and asks, “is it a sit down concert or a stand up concert?” clearly hoping for the former. I can’t confirm, but we decide to go anyway.
Saturday night: We head to the concert which is in, as the band’s lead singer says, a “crusty” area of town. We throw open the doors to the venue with bated breath and — sigh of relief — it’s a sit down concert! Y promptly falls asleep sitting up and misses most of the concert. The band, the Barr Brothers, are great, but they’re very chill and the room is dark and I honestly might have fallen asleep, too but the baby is doing some serious dancing.
Sunday: Y has the day off, so I convince him we should go to something called Northern Grade, a marketplace of “artisan” menswear brands because I think it’s right up his alley. Sure enough, once we get inside, I can’t find him because literally every guy in there has the same beard. These are his people.
But here’s what happened: in the parking lot, before we walked in, the trunk of Y’s hatchback didn’t open all the way, and when he leaned in to put something in the back of his car, he hit his head, hard. There was blood.
Once we get inside, it isn’t the identical beards that make Y hard to find, it’s the fact that he is wandering aimlessly, in a head injury induced haze. We both decide he is going to die, so we leave BEFORE WE EVEN GET TO LOOK AT THE HAND CRAFTED CANOE PADDLES.
As we’re driving home, Y snaps back to reality and says, “I feel better! Let’s get Indian food!” and I make a last second turn to get to an Indian restaurant nearby that has eight different flavors of chai. All is well.
Sunday night: We visit a friend’s new baby. Y swears he knows where their house is, but we end up lost. Y ask Siris to text our friend, “What’s your address?” Instead, Siri inexplicably texts me “I’ll make macaroni and cheese for dinner” and we end up late. The baby is cute.
STAY TUNED FOR THE THRILLING SEQUEL.