No, You Can't Ride Shotgun

It was supposed to be you and me, kid.

When word broke that many of Katie’s old a cappella mates would be descending on the DC region on the very same weekend, a reunion was inevitable. They came from Indiana and Texas, and all parts of Northern Virginia. It would have been a crime had Katie declined the invitation. Yes, there’s a new baby in the house, but that’s where it pays to have two parents-in-residence. Right?

On Saturday night, the Reveille crew gathered at our apartment prior to going out an enjoyable dinner at which the sparkling conversation probably did not include the following:

1) Fantasy Baseball mock drafts
2) Hanging drywall
3) How cute Clara isn’t

Of course this was a momentous occasion not just for the reasons of reunion; this signified something far more important. No, not the copious amounts of calamari to be served, nor the fact that dining across the parking lot from our apartment would continue to be “way cool.” You see, when the dinner party departed, and that door closed on our 4th floor pad, something else was afoot.

Dad and Baby. By themselves.

Sure, I had been out of the apartment on many an occasion, leaving Katie and Clara to bond. There’s work to attend, errands to run, and hell, I even took Saturday to enjoy the weather and play some roller hockey on our parking garage roof. But this was undoubtedly a first, and to tell you the truth, I kind of looking forward to it.

But then plans changed.

Over the course of the week, I had been envisioning what our night home together would involve. We’d have a bottle, which leads to the inevitable cycle of burping, playing, and sleeping. And then as the little one was falling asleep for a early evening nap, I’d tell her of all the things she’ll need to know to be successful in life. Why Pepsi is a far superior cola to Coke. Why John Woo is a horrible, over-rated film director. Which of the Care Bears use their power for good, and which are just vindictive colorful fiends that shoot rainbows out of their stomachs for spite. (Hmm…don’t think I’m not on to you for a second, Grumpy.)

However, the day before, I heard that an impromptu gathering was to be held in Alexandria for one of my good friends from the GW MBA program. Aside from being a wildly clever comedian, this guy also led a secret life of flying helicopters for the Air Force ‘round the Monuments. Also a new father, Mr. Miser is headed overseas to Iraq in a few weeks, and his time in Northern VA is fleeting. It’s an opportunity to see him to hard to pass up.

“Hey, Katie – I’m going to step out for a bit to see off Jeff. I’ll be back in a few hour-

Wait. You’re not Katie. You’re not even self-cleaning.”

And like that, Clara just earned her first date.

Yes, a night on the town with a newborn is a difficult thing, but it can be done. It rquires one to be swift and determined in their actions – wasted time could mean disaster. After all, we were only planning to stop by for an hour, but packing is a priority. You have two pieces of luggage that are required.

1) Diaper Bag – Must contain extra clothes, diapers, changing accessories, pacifiers, cloths, and a bottle of wine for the party hosts. (Note: this is the ONLY time one should stow alcohol in a diaper bag. No exceptions.)
2) Car seat - Must contain a baby.

And like a champ, Clara slept in the car, enjoying the sounds of college basketball on the radio. The crucial piece of baby equipment? A baby mirror. You affix this small rectangle of reflective surfacing to the headrest of the backseat in order to watch your little one. However, one must still adhere to the need to make swift and determined actions. Therefore, you can’t fiddle with the thing until your heart’s content – the quicker you get on the road, the less potential for tears. So when I sat down in the driver’s seat and looked back to check my handiwork, it turns out that I would only be able to view the reflection of Clara’s mouth and neck.

Eh, good enough.