We went back home to Pittsburgh last weekend for a wedding. Weddings are no longer fun for us because we're at that weird age where we don't dance at weddings because we're not 24 anymore and we're not 56 yet. So basically, we just sit there and watch other people have fun while trying to come up with a good answer to "So, what have you been up to?" Anyway, on Sunday we went to a barbecue and a few old acquaintances brought their babies. And baby carriers. And baby formula. And baby toys. And three changes of baby clothes. And a big canvas sack to carry it all. The parents of the youngest ones mainly held their squirmy offspring in their laps while answering, "Nah, I can't. The baby." to every question that came their way. "Want to play volleyball?" "Want to get a beer?" "Want to enjoy your life?" But the real gems were the 2-3 year olds who seemed to be fascinated by dirt and falling down. My favorite kid was eating this cookie topped with red icing. Maybe not eating. Mostly smearing it on his chin. It seriously looked like the kid got into a can of paint. Mom made no effort to wipe it off, leading me to believe this wasn't a unique event. On the drive back to the hotel I remarked, "Man, I don't know why anybody would go through that." This did not go over well with The Wife.
If you're looking for some resolution on that anecdote...you know, if you're wondering how things eventually turned out...may I suggest looking at that last post in which I mentioned my young daughter?