Mother’s Day 1999 was something that I had been looking forward to for about 9 months. Yet, as I waddled into church 7 days overdue, I felt a little miffed. Emma was born the next day making her reluctant entrance.
She was a colicky baby, which I attribute to my nervousness and inexperience, rather than any temperamental deficiency of Emma’s. And I was as nervous as they came. I was prone to calling the doctor for comical reasons leaving nurses on the other end of the phone struggling to breathe while also restraining their laughter.
So you can imagine the production it was to go to the grocery store for the first time with Emma in tow. I went equipped with multiple changes of diapers, wipes, a change of clothes, toys, binky and spare blankets. I had her buckled properly in her car seat, swathed with blankets to keep her warm even though it was already June. With a shopping list tucked in my purse, I struggled to carry Emma, in her car seat on one arm and a gigantic diaper bag and my purse on the other arm into the grocery store.
It was one of the most exhausting shopping trips I had had to date. Finally at the check out, a sweet white-haired woman behind me peered into the car seat to look at Emma.
“Oh, isn’t this wonderful!” she said to me.
“This,” I said, pointing at Emma, “is a lot of work.”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, “but isn’t it wonderful?”