Last weekend, I decided to take the baby to Burlington. It was a glorious September day, warm and breezy. Several weeks prior, a friend of mine had dropped off some high-ticket hand-me-downs for us – a stroller, swing and baby hiking backpack – at another friend’s house. I was itching to get hold of this gear and put it into action. My husband was away for the day, seeing friends in Albany. So I decided my daughter and I needed an adventure of our own.
I snapped my daughter into a denim onesie, wedged her feet into moccasins embroidered with smiling giraffes and got us both into the car. We live an hour and 15 minutes from downtown Burlington – just far enough to feel far. I crossed my fingers that we could make the drive in one fell swoop, without a diaper or a breastfeeding stop. The universe was in my favor. The baby fell asleep by the time we hit Vergennes. She did not register the traffic in South Burlington, or our stop-and-go wind through the Old North End. She woke up as I plunked her car seat down in my friend’s entryway, puzzled and bemused to be in someone else’s house, face to face with a friendly dog.
We had a nice catch-up with my friend and loaded the new-to-us gear into the car. Then the baby and I set out on foot. I was excited to be, at least for the afternoon, an urban pedestrian — the crumbling sidewalks in our town aren’t exactly stroller friendly. We ambled past murals and markets and down toward the lake, the waterfront sparkling before us. After watching ducks and people and boats and waves, I decided I was hungry. Could the baby handle eating in a restaurant? There was only one way to find out. We stopped at Sherpa Kitchen for Nepali food. Nobody else was there, which I decided was for the best. The waiter, patient and understanding, brought us a highchair. I ordered the baby some daal and roti, spoon-feeding her to minimize the mess. It didn’t really work — she slurped down the daal with gusto and tried to commandeer the spoon. We both got covered in yellow lentils. We destroyed two napkins. Half the roti ended up on the floor. The baby fussed when I tried to eat my own lunch. I breastfed her in the booth, then hauled her into the bathroom to change her diaper on a low bench. I shoved the rest of my food in my face and decided we were done. Not terrible for our first restaurant meal. I left our waiter a 30 percent tip.
We made it back to our car and all the way home without a meltdown. I was exhausted but victorious. Early parenthood can be so grueling, so driven by care routines. It felt good to enjoy a day out, made harder and sweeter with our daughter in tow. We went to bed early that night. And I’m looking forward to our next adventure.
— Sarah Harris is the Addison Independent’s Digital & Calendar Editor.