Ten and a half weeks into motherhood and three days into the non-stop nursing of one of Matilda's growth spurts (Right now, my mother is scratching her head and wondering how Matilda could possibly nurse more than she usually does and how I could possibly tell the difference, to which I respond, "Ha! Um, A-ha!...What's that over there?" *points to wall*), my reading comprehension skills are dragging. I was sure an email from Shannon said she'd be home this weekend when it really said she'd be home next weekend. I was excited to see her this weekend and while I was not excited to drive to Boston with Matilda (see also: Does Not Travel Well), my mind was firing over that and hitting on us all walking around the Boston Commons, as in, BEING IN A PUBLIC SPACE. With adults. And bars nearby.
When Shannon had not returned our calls or my email by Noon, it started to dawn on me that maybe I was wrong. Verdict: I was. But I was still itching to get out of the house so Niclas and I strapped Matilda to the roof of the car I mean into her carseat and we drove to Newburyport.
We had a very nice afternoon that began at an Antiques Hall -- cue: The Screaming -- and ended at a restaurant with outdoor seating where Matilda had a full-on Postcards From the Edge-style meltdown.
