The Happiest Baby on the Block

For my wife's sanity, I've found that we need a family-friendly outing each weekend day just to get out of the house.

Saturday, we did breakfast and got our Christmas tree. All was well.

Sunday was a particularly fussy, colicky day for the little one. Nonetheless, we pressed forward and decided to go to Barnes and Noble to get out of the house and pick up a few Christmas gifts and other assorted reading material. My wife wanted to get the "Happiest Baby on the Block" book, to deal with the Undaling's recent colic diagnosis. (A pediatrician confirmed our suspicions on Friday).

Traditionally, when we park the mini-van and unload all the baby gear, I push the stroller through the parking lot until we reach the entrance of our destination, then I turn it over to Mrs. U. I guess that somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I can kick any wayward vehicle or shopping cart that threatens the baby.

"Wow, he's really enjoying being outside", I said as I looked down at the smiling child in the stroller."

"Don't jinx it", warned my wife.

When we visit Barnes and Noble, Mrs. U and I normally go our seperate ways to explore our own personal interests. She heads for the trashy romance novel section and the bathroom humor section and I head for the philosophy aisle or the transcendental meditation section. As I handed over the controls to the stroller, I said "Just fire an emergency flare if you need me", knowing that the Undaling might complicate matters.

About 60 seconds later, I heard a baby crying. Could it be our baby? I tore myself away from the paperback-version of Moby Dick and wandered toward the source of the noise. Yep, it was him. Mrs. U was holding the baby with one hand and pushing the stroller with the other, trying desperately to make it to the children's section, where the loud, high-pitched shrieks would be more socially accepted. I grabbed the stroller and helped guide them to the brightly-colored back of the store, where we were greeted by books with pictures of talking animals with fuzzy textures. Immediately, a clerk met us at the entrance to the kids section.

"Can I help you find something?"

Hmmm. Did she really want to help us, or did she just want to get us out of there.

"Actually", I said, "we're fine. We're just seeking refuge here."

"OK", she looked us up and down. "There's some nice board books back here for him."

What the hell is a board book? Oh, well. The baby was calm for a moment as something big and colorful and well-lit caught his eye.

"I'll be back", I said as I turned back to the quiet part of the store and continued to look for "The Happiest Baby on the Block".

I reached the "desperate parent" aisle and began scanning the titles.

"What to expect when you're expecting". Been there, done that.

"Babywise". Hated it, wait for the movie.

"Your pregnancy week by week". Oops, wrong shelf. Where are the baby-already-born books?

Oh, OK. Here they are. "How to clean up a big mess with only one baby wipe". "Burp me dammit". "How to operate heavy machinery on three hours of sleep". "The Happiest Baby...." Then, I heard it again. This time it was much louder with a touch of baby anger. For a moment, I was Batman and this was the bat signal. I navigated my way quickly back to the childrens section. I saw Mrs. Undaground holding the baby again. His face was twisted and red, as he let us both know that he's not a big fan of bookstores.

"Let's go", my wife said. "You pay for these and I'll see you outside."

We moved quickly toward the front of the store, pushing people out of the way as if we were carrying a ticking time bomb that needed to be detonated outside. Mrs. U headed for the door, and I shoved a teenager out of the way to get to the cashier.

"Are you a member of Barnes and Noble sucker club?" If I had 20% off for every time I've been asked this question....

"No, No thanks."

"Do you need a gift receipt?"

"No. Just a regular receipt. Thanks." Then I gave her some non-verbal cues to hurry the hell up.

"Do you want to buy a book for a poor kid?"

"Huh?"

"They're all under $5"

"Sure, whatever."

"Do you want to pick out which book you want to give?"

"No, just whatever you think is best. I'm kind of in a hurry."

Finally, we completed the ridiculously long transaction and I left the store. Forty-eight dollars and we never actually bought the thing we went there for.

I don't know what I expected to see when I left the store, but I had the sinking feeling that my wife was in trouble, and that a mob of strangers had formed a circle around her and the baby, pointing and laughing at the public tantrum.

Instead, Mrs. U was standing outside the entrance with the happiest baby on the block.

Apparently, he doesn't care much for bookstores, but parking lots are like baby paradise to him.