Baby Time, Happy Due Date, Easter

If it hadn’t hit me already, it did Saturday: I am no longer living on my time, I am living on Blanche’s time. Let’s say you want to go to the mall and scour the Old Navy shelves for some $5 polos. And let’s suppose you would go straight from the mall to your hometown and its Easter feasts. Pre-Blanche, we’d pack a light bag, grab Atlas and go. Things played out a little differently on Saturday.

Has Blanche eaten? Better feed her before we go. How’s her diaper? Pooped through the onesie. Have we packed everything we need? Don’t forget the stroller. It took us five tries before we successfully left the house, and we still managed to forget something. I’m already freaking out about the ten-day West Coast vacation we have scheduled in August. Babies simply can’t pack lightly.

They also, as I learned Saturday, take the Mall of America at a slightly different pace. This is one of my least favorite places to be period, and pushing a stroller through the crowds makes it no less frustrating. Have you ever waited for an elevator there? Bring a magazine. By the end of the afternoon, I was an expert at balancing our stroller on the escalators. No more waiting five minutes to get plowed over by over-zealous elevator fiends. Some people are cutthroat.

Meanwhile, Saturday was Blanche’s due date! I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to celebrate or not. Just a note.

Here are a couple shots from Blanche’s first Easter. (Last year we were told at every holiday and landmark that it would be “our last one before parenthood!” I hated that. This year I’m betting I’ll hear a ton of “Oh, your first _______ as a parent!” Equal amount of hatred.)

Cozying up to Uncle Erik

Dad's family


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