Today, we navigated the vast perilous squishy hinterland called Babies R' Us. We were there for safety reasons. Tom and I had been called in to escort my feverish and very pale brother.
After about ten minutes surrounded by miles of essential baby equipment and earnest pregnant teenagers realizing how many hours they'll need to put in at TGI Fridays to pay for all this gear, I myself became clammy. My condition took a turn for the worse after cranking out a quick cost/benefit analysis on the mini-waterfall option for the Rainforest Pack n' Play. I grew woozy and disoriented, but luckily appear to be scrappy in the face of tiny bedding in galactic heaps. Fortitude was called for. Mary had prepared a four page shopping list complete with pictures and top color choices. The good news about being flat on your back in the hospital for 8 weeks is it's conducive to high-level comparison shopping.
Tom disappeared early on. He beelined for the electronics section to check out the baby monitors. He had his eye on a 1.2 gigahertz infrared number he could borrow for a while to use as a deck-cam. The unidentified fuzzy midnight guests shitting on our patio plagues his every waking moment.
I fixated on an adorable stuffed moose with a pacifier hanging out its ass. My highly strung brother stressed about going off the list. Tom, usually a spacial-relations genius, turned into an alarmist and expressed grave doubts all our purchases would fit in the car.
I came home and took a nap.