Do as I say, not as I spend

Hey Wavy,

We've been joined at the hip for the last few days. Either the house was full of company and I did not want to be home, or the house has been empty and I did not want to be home, so I've strapped you in the truck and we've been out and about.

Three afternoons in a row now, we have stopped off at that unnameable coffee place. We grab a mocha and something from the pastry case, sit at an out-of-the-way table and people-watch. Or rather, sit and pass silent judgment on other people who have been duped into spending too much time and money at a ubiquitous chain coffee shop.

Three afternoons in a row, we have followed up with shopping jags at ubiquitous chain stores for stuff we need, and stuff we don't need. We went grocery shopping once, bath-and-bedding shopping yesterday, and today we went shopping just for the sake of shopping. We hit Borders, CostPlus, Michaels and Old Navy.

It was dark by the time we got to Old Navy, and you were asleep in the sling, your face buried in my armpit, your little arm flopping lifelessly about with every step. To all the world, I look like I'm toting a dead, sweaty baby around on my hip.

I beelined for the clearance rack, where I can load up, somewhat guilt-free. I got you a bunch of shorts, tees and tanks, which you honestly *do* need. Honestly. I took it all to the register and the cashier peered at you and asked worriedly, "Is she asleep?" What does she think... really? That I'm a crazy woman walking around and shopping with a deceased, ex-baby?

She asked me how old you are, then rummaged around in a box behind the counter and asked if you needed a 97-cent clearance-tag swimsuit. I was still in the zone, that hazy, brain-fog shopping zone that I slip into sometimes, and she could've popped up from behind the counter with a bag of steaming hot dog sh*t, and I would've bought it if the price was right.

It's a black hoochie-mama bikini, the sort that I had vowed that I would never buy you, but it was only 97 cents. I'll post a picture when I can. I'm sure you will rock it like no baby has ever rocked a bikini in the history of babies wearing bikinis, but don't let it go to your head.

Anyway, dearest heart, pay no mind to my neuroses, my psychoses, my tics and my unhealthy compulsions. But always, always, make time to sit with me at the coffee shop to dish and pass harsh judgment. Love you!