We had a local weekend of baby-gear shopping, farmer’s-marketing, Ikea-assembling, swimming, grilling. Saturday we went back to a baby store we like and pushed around a bunch of strollers, still debating on which to purchase; I think we’ve finally decided on a jogging stroller called the BOB Revolution, which we’ll use with an infant car seat adapter until the baby’s big enough to use the stroller as is. From the reviews we’ve read, it seems most people love it and are perfectly happy using just one stroller, with other strollers gathering dust in their garages. We’re not ready to pull the trigger, but we’re getting close. As the due date nears, our starry-eyed shopping is getting a little more practical—it matters now whether a stroller is huge, and heavy, and impractical, even if it’s European and adorable.
The farmer’s market is unbelievably satisfying these days, and for the past couple of weeks we’ve come home absolutely laden down with fruits and veggies. This weekend we bought a watermelon, two cantaloupes (50 cents each), peaches, pluots, strawberries, cucumbers (5 for $1), and tomatillos. We passed up the tomatoes since a neighbor of ours, who apparently has a large garden, has been keeping us well-stocked.
Our pool was surprisingly peaceful this weekend—Friday evening, hardly anyone was there, and there were very few people on Sunday late-afternoon. Blissful—almost like having a private pool. We both went swimming then read for a while in the poolside lounge chairs. Andrew looked longingly at a couple sharing a pitcher of cold beer, but settled for a Gatorade. Such is the live of a nonpregnant spouse.
Sunday night, Andrew made burgers on the grill, and I made a side dish of cucumbers with basil, lemon, and cream. We had watermelon for dessert. It was warm out, but we were cool from swimming, so we ate in the backyard. We could hear music from the park a few blocks away. I was still in my bathing suit, with a still-fits-but-just-barely cover-up, which I had also worn to the grocery store.
“Sometimes I wonder,” Andrew said pensively as we sat quietly over our empty plates. “Sometimes I wonder how we got here—from living in New York, and Spain, to being married and pregnant and living in Northern California.” (You’ll have to trust me when I say he wasn’t equating marriage and pregnancy with living in NorCal; I’m paraphrasing.) It does seem incredible how much has changed in the five-plus years we’ve been together. But we weren’t frowning in displeasure or frustration at our lot—just observing. Soon we got too warm and went back inside.