And then there were three
In March my life completely changed. My husband and I welcomed our amazing baby boy, Viggo, and he is now my trusty sidekick when it comes to all things retail. Together we’ve clocked thousands of kilometers on his CityMini, hoping to strike sartorial gold (without having to spend it!). Lucky for us, this winter has been mild and on the few days that have actually been inclement, Viggo has soldiered on, taking in the sales—I mean sights—from behind the safety of his clear plastic weather shield. He’s every shopper’s dream baby. The good natured kid has endured his mother in all manner of dress (I swear I thought I heard him say “utility blouse” the other day), and in moments of indecision I have found myself shamefully interrupting his happy reverie to ask his opinion.
“I know the sad day will come when he’d rather do anything than shop with his mom…”
What follows is a frenetic sort of dance whereby I hold up one garment, then another, over and over again while trying to decipher his sounds and gestures as expressions of either consent or dissent. And while I can’t speak for him, I am loving every minute of his free wheelin’, I’ll-follow-mom-anywhere-as-long-as-she-sings-me-a-few-lines-of-I’m-a-little-teapot, joyful baby stage. I know the sad day will come when he’d rather do anything than shop with his mom and I’ll be back out there on Bloor the streets, baby-less, stroller-less…alone. And all without the Mommy Hook on which to hang my heavy heart haul.