My hubby got a message from a friend the other day who said she was contemplating taking her girls to a baseball game. She asked if we'd taken our boys to one, and if it held their attention the entire time. She wanted to know how old Nick was the first time we took him to a Brewer's game.
He read the message out loud to me, then we looked at each other and laughed.
Leaning back from the computer screen, he squinted, thinking. "Geez...let's see...he was...how old?"
The memory came rushing to me. "Oh my God - four or five months old? Do you remember?"
Nick was born at the end of November, and that following April we had been offered tickets to a pre-season game for $10 a piece, about 10-15 rows behind home plate. Awesome tickets anytime, but obviously out of our price range during regular season. We'd contemplated getting a sitter, but the naivete of new parenthood made us figure we could just take the baby with us. He'd probably just sleep the whole time anyway, and extra bonus - he didn't even require his own seat!
The night of the game, I dressed baby Nick in a super cute outfit (cuz what kind of good mother would I be if I took him out wearing anything less?), packed a diaper bag and we took off for Miller Park in the pouring rain.
We paid extra to park close to the stadium and we decided we'd leave the baby carrier in the car, knowing that once we got to our seats there'd be no room for it. It was my first time anywhere with a baby not in his little "seat".
Pulling into our parking space, the rain turned into torrential downpour. The noise it made hitting the roof of the car was deafening. "We're close - we can run, right?" Jay asked.
We compromised - he'd carry the baby - tucked under his coat to stay dry of course, the only sensible thing to do - if I carried the diaper bag. And we ran like hell.
A few minutes later we were inside the stadium, soaked, with a slightly stunned and very pissed off looking baby. Not crying, he looked as us as if to say, "You have NO idea what to do with a baby, do you?!?"
We met up with our friend and made our way to our seats. The stadium was packed and we got more than a few ugly glares when folks saw us sitting down with a baby. (I mean, what the HELL were we thinking?!?)
It took only seconds for the size of the crowd, the noise of the rowdy and the glare of the lights to make Nick FREAK THE HELL OUT.
He let out the most heinous screams, as if to try and let everyone know the torture his parents were putting him through. I excused myself and took my poor, wailing child away from the crowds in the stands and back into the safety of the (much quieter) atrium.
I spent most of the game sitting at a table next to a brat stand, watching the game on TV.
Somewhere around the fifth inning I mustered up the courage to try again, and brought my (now placid and nearly sleeping) son back to our seats.
Poor kid's eyes were as wide as saucers for the rest of the game.
But surprisingly, he was quiet.