a fine day for a little shopping

A pretty day, a warm day. We were going to go to yoga first, but this morning was just one of those mornings. Between nursing and napping and a nice long shower and diapers and restocking the diaper bag and changing my spit-up covered shirt, we ran out of time.

So off to Babies R Us in search of a humidifier and a battery-powered mobile. But the mobile I wanted wasn’t in stock, and I got confused by the options in the humidifier aisle (do you have a recommendation?), and somehow I still managed to spend $50 on pacifiers and an ear thermometer and baby-protecting car window shades.

Then we went to Fourth Street for lunch. Given the insane number of strollers in the area on any given day, it’s stunning to me that I couldn’t find a bathroom with a changing table. I tried four places before giving up and putting the mat on the floor of the last one. Will have to scout further in a less-emergency type situation.

Maybe it was the weather, or the sleep deprivation. Everything seemed to be in technicolor. Hallucinagenically sharp details. The two post-frat-boy types at the table behind me, one talking about his career as an on-air carpenter for home makeover shows, in between discussing his dairy intolerance that suddenly went into remission, and how to make a bechamel sauce. The spry, tanned, older hippie couple next to me arguing over whether Bluebottle Organic Coffee beans would be cheaper at the Mexican restaurant and shop we were all sitting in front of, or at the Farmers’ Market. The blonde woman across the way, sitting alone, wearing the perfect pair of strappy red patent leather sandals, the same shade of red as the leash attached to her big white-gold retriever dog. The wiry older woman dressed all in black — jeans, leather jacket and boots, long thick blonde-and-gray hair, returning to her black-and-white striped and embellished bike — like something out of an environmentally-conscious remake of Mad Max; the rasta-haired rag-doll dog in the wine crate “basket” looking like a stuffed toy until it roused to greet her. The new-ish mother sitting with her parents; her father tipping the baby upside down and nibbling on the boy’s feet; the baby dressed in black and green striped leggings and a slate blue hat with four tassels on top; Graco carseat perched atop navy blue BOB stroller parked beside them.

Only after the diaper change did we go into the baby gear store. Maybe they had a changing station? I should have asked. Bought Jonah his/my next new favorite toy. Been looking for this for a bit. In trying to find it on the Internet just now to show you, I found it for cheaper. Almost half what I paid for it. Oh well. Jonah stuck it in his mouth right away (after I’d cleaned it with a wipe, of course) and gnawed happily.

(He’d also gnawed happily on a chunk of frozen carrot this morning. And Gillian was right. Orange drool soon followed. Tra la la.)

Since the boy was in a good mood, and I’m still trying to dress my post-pregnancy body, we took a mosey over to Anthropologie where I scored a few shirts and some new yoga pants (the old ones which were not so new before the pregnancy, and have been with me the whole ride, are looking predictably worse for wear). Jonah did his usual dancing-on-the-floor routine, and cried just as we were at the cashier, and fell asleep on our way to the salon for my waxing appointment. The same salon he’d accompanied me to yesterday for a pedicure. He was a model citizen both days (I split up the treatments so as not to wear him out), though yesterday I did have to change a monumentally poopy diaper while the pedicure was happening — legs held aloft in front of me while the lady shooshed-shooshed my callouses, body twisted to the side to change squirmy boy on bench, trying to avoid smearing poo on lovely velour bench cushion.

Apres wax, we went across the street for a juice (me) and a suck-suck (him). It was a baby’s dream cafe. Two ceiling fans, plus the acoustic tiles were alternately decorated or missing, revealing blue true-ceiling above. Perfect for gazing at / being distracted by while breastfeeding.