Annabelle Goes to Market Basket

Every Saturday morning, I go grocery shopping. (Yes, of course this is the life I've imagined from a young age.) I almost always go by myself because I really like efficiency. A solo trip takes maybe 45 minutes. A trip with the two adorable, dawdling females in the family would take at least five hours.

But on Saturday, wanting to give Bridget a little time to herself, I volunteered to take Annabelle on her first big grocery shopping trip. 

Since we've moved to the suburbs, we've started going to Market Basket, which is just delightful. Good food, low prices, excellent customer service. The only problem is that it's really, really crowded -- especially on weekend mornings. 

This realization made me nervous as I loaded a somewhat fussy Annabelle, clutching a Curious George doll, into the car at 7:30 AM. Oh well. Off we went:

Parking lot: We pulled into the crowded lot and Annabelle immediately went into the seat in the grocery cart. This, I thought, was a good sign because Annabelle hates sitting in carts at stores. 

Aisle 1: We headed for the cheeses and yogurts, two popular items in our house. I grabbed a bag of shredded parmesan cheese. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the bag. I gave it to her. I grabbed some kid yogurts. "Annabelle's!" Annabelle yelled, as she reached for the container. This is going to be a long trip.

Deli: As Annabelle sucked down the blueberry yogurt, I saw a great opportunity for interaction at the deli: "Annabelle," I said. "Do you want to pick a number so we can get more cheese?" She smiled. She pulled number 9 and number 2 showed  on the screen, which gave us time for our first random conversation.

Kind woman #1: "She's so cute. How old is she?"

Me: "Oh, thanks. She's almost 2."

Kind woman #1: "Oh, and I love her Curious George doll. My daughter loves that, too. Where did you get that, sweetie?"

Annabelle: (Silence) 

Me: "We got that in Harvard Square. There's a really nice store down there ..." 

Aisle 4: With the deli, the longest part of the experience, behind us, I had high hopes we were on our way. But as we picked out some granola, I heard the dreaded sound: "Up! Up! Up!" I cringed. "Oh, you don't want to be in the seat anymore, Annabelle?" She started at me. "Up! Up! Up!" Crap. I pulled her out, carried her with one arm and steered the cart with the other. This is going to be a really long trip.

Aisle 10: As we picked up some pouches (one of which Annabelle devoured; her second "treat" of the trip), she had mercifully decided she would walk. "Just stay with Dad," I said, as I grabbed several bottles of addictive Polar seltzer water. 

Kind woman #2: "Oh, how cute. I love her hair."

Me: "Say thank you, sweetie."

Annabelle: (Silence)

Me: "Thanks. That's very nice of you. We like it, too!"

Aisle 12: We saw a huge display of Goldfish. "Fishies!" Seconds later, Annabelle was walking around with her own bag of cheddar fish, treat No. 3. Smiles followed us (mostly her) as we turned toward the busiest part of the store. 

The frozen section: In between fistfuls of fish, Annabelle started holding my hand as the cart traffic picked up. I ducked into the freezers to get some waffles and then some mini raviolis, which delighted Annabelle: "Daddy's IN there!" I grabbed some ice cream. "Daddy's INNN there!" She couldn't stop laughing, which means I couldn't laughing. 

Fruits and vegetables: Enough fun. The fruit and vegetable section is essentially a war zone in Market Basket. Determined suburban moms in workout clothes, dads with complicated grocery lists, young kids "learning how to steer," and older folks carefully finding the perfect tomato. Carts were everywhere. One hand on the cart, one hand in Annabelle's, we weaved and darted our way to nectarines, cucumbers, and crisp green peppers. 

Tired dude: "How old is she?"

Me: "Almost 2."

Tired dude: "Yeah, I have four-year-old twins, so I can't bring them grocery shopping."

Me: "Oh, god. That must be tough."

Tired dude: "Yeah. Yeah, it is ..."

With our cart full, we headed for checkout. I picked up speed as I grabbed Annabelle's hand. Then, suddenly, she pulled.

"Oh, no. I dropped my Goldfish, Dad," shouted a nice couple. I cringed and looked back. No Goldfish on the ground, so I quickly grabbed the bag, smiled at the couple, and headed toward checkout lane #8. 

I expected a mini tantrum because the cashier had to scan the Goldfish, but it never came. Annabelle even volunteered to hold my hand as we walked across the parking lot, something that has proved very challenging in recent weeks. Sure, she took off running when I put the cart back, but, all in all, it was a wildly successful trip. 

Total trip time: 70 minutes. But the extra 25 minutes were the best ones of the day. 

Are New Parents Boring?

A few weeks ago, we hung out with some friends we hadn't seen in a while. After the obligatory hugs and handshakes, we got down to talking about what we had been doing for the past few months and what was ahead for the spring. As you might expect, this newly married couple talked about traveling, bachelorette parties, and their favorite types of beer. They talked about Vermont, New York City, and New Orleans. They talked about good food, good movies, and good fun. 

And then they asked about us.

"Well, we had a baby."

(Silence.)

(Awkward silence.)

(Where did those damn crickets come from?)

We all laughed about it, of course, because they're nice people and our sudden change in lifestyle is kind of funny. But "Well, we had a baby" is a pretty good summation of our last five months on this Earth. It'll be a pretty good summation of the next five, too. And as the conversation moved in a different direction, it struck me: Are we boring? And, on a larger scale, are all new parents boring? 

At face value, I suppose the answer is yes. I mean, we must seem very boring to newly married couples and, undoubtedly, to single people we know. Let's face it: Falling asleep before 10 PM on a Saturday night has never been "cool." "Do you mind if I don't shower today?" is not a distinctly sexy question. 

It's not like we don't do things. We go out for dinner, visit friends, take naps, and take long family walks. We have date night and we're even going to a concert next month. So, we do stuff. It's just that the stuff (save the concert and the occasional date night) usually includes our beloved Belle.

In fact, Belle was with us that day with our friends. As I answered the question about our recent activities, I immediately thought of her as a great accomplishment that made the last five socially slower months seem acceptable.

That's how people think of babies -- as accomplishments. I sat in a conference room of health care professionals last fall and listened as 29 out of 30 people talked about their kids as the most important thing in their lives. (One dude was crazy about triathlons.) But babies aren't really accomplishments. Accomplishments fade. You accomplish something -- an A on a test, a game-winning shot, a new raise -- and then eventually move on and forget about that thing. Babies, on the other hand, define your life. At all times, you're thinking about your child. Maybe not literally every second, but certainly every hour. What's she doing? Is she happy? I can't wait to see her smile again. I hope she likes me when she grows up. These thoughts constantly swirl in your head. 

And along with defining your life, babies are a convenient excuse to get out of social situations we dislike, which makes us seem more boring. I've used Belle as an excuse and I'll continue to do it in the future. The simple reality is that no reasonable person can say, "Oh, that's really lame that you want to hang out with your daughter." (I mean, you can say that, but you'd be a huge jerk.) 

This week, though, I watched a video that immediately changed my perspective on this boring question. I'd seen the video before, but this time, it really hit me. It's called "This is Water" and it's an illustration of a commencement speech by the late author David Foster Wallace. Here's the link. (If you haven't watched it, I strongly encourage you to take the nine minutes.) 

It made me realize that we're boring -- and new parents are boring -- only if we choose to be. It all comes down to altering your perception and how you feel during the everyday, grind-it-out moments of your life. To put it in specific terms, I'd rather feed Belle oatmeal than get drunk at a bar. And a trip with Belle to the Curious George store in Harvard Square brings me more joy than a round of golf. 

So it may seem, at first blush, like new parents are boring. Early bedtimes, middle-of-the-night wake-ups, and eating at restaurants at 5 PM to beat the dinner rush can certainly sound boring to newly married couples, single friends, and even retirees. But, in reality, this is, without question, the most interesting my life has ever been.