We knew getting into this baby business that it would put a harsh end to this life we’ve enjoyed for the last eight years. Pregnancy is good for easing into our new life. For months, we planned to spend Labor Day weekend biking to from Chicago to Milwaukee, touring the city’s many breweries and one art museum, and then taking the train back like so many adventurers who came before. I don’t remember what we ended up doing that weekend, but I know it probably involved me, nauseated on the couch. Our two year anniversary ended the same way, and the tickets we’d procured to see John Hiatt and Steve Earle at Ravinia went to waste and we ate the picnic dinner Robert prepared in small bites, in our apartment, listening to a thrown-together alt country playlist on the computer. A few weeks later, we actually made it to the Bruce Springsteen concert at Wrigley, and a good thing too, because Robert put in hours of behind-the-scenes work getting his hands on those tickets, and it was largely a success, except that I kept sneaking breaks to sit down and eat bits of granola bar, thereby losing any hipster credibility I hadn’t already sacrificed by paying a lot of money to see Bruce Springsteen in the first place. Since then, we’ve only attended shows I’m certain will involve sitting at least 90% of the time (Gillian Welch, Louis C.K.).
Now, I’m far enough along that we’ll be looking at tickets for something and realize that it’s scheduled post-baby. Josh Ritter is coming five days after I’m due. Robert: I guess we probably won’t be able to leave the baby alone that early. Maybe I can go by myself. I bet I’ll need a break. Me: That’s a terrible idea. Maybe the baby will be late, and we will get to go. We’ll have to find tickets at the last minute on Craigslist, though. Robert: That might work. You might not feel like going to a concert when you’re that huge, though. Me: I will need the distraction. I tried to use this same logic to explain why we might still be able to attend a friend’s wedding that is scheduled one week after I’m due, but Robert put his foot down at leaving the state at 41 weeks. This makes some sense.
So last week Robert told me that there is another concert at Wrigley this summer that he wants to go see. Robert: Pearl Jam! Pearl Jam is coming to Chicago in June! Me: That sounds like fun for you. I probably won’t be able to leave the baby for that long, though. Robert: You have to go! The baby will be two months old, and we will probably only be give for five hours. Me: I don’t know, that sounds like a lot of Pearl Jam. Robert: Don’t worry, it will be. There’s not even an opening act, which means even more Pearl Jam. Can you tell we are not on the same page when it comes to Pearl Jam? Or with prerequisites for baby survival? Here’s hoping we figure it out inside of three months.