The Babywave

Today I went baby-sitting. This is because my dear friend Hannah had a baby. We figured this was probably going to be the case when Hannah- who does things like run marathons, mow the lawn, and cut all sugar out of her diet for fun- took to lounging on the couch and eating donuts during Act 2 of "Mame" at VA Rep. last Christmas.
Once our suspicions were confirmed, I was very excited about the forthcoming creature- and then I became very curious as well. This was one of the first babies to be created who was the product of two of my friends. So I was interested in this baby as a person long before she was born. I am usually only interested in babies for their fat legs and faces, and for the need they create to purchase tiny amusing costumes made to look like mushrooms, bears, and tacos for Halloween (or any day of the year, really).
So Hannah, true to form, stuck to it and remained pregnant for all 9 months. This was no surprise- Hannah is known for sticking to everything she decides to do, such as rigorous and challenging New Year's Resolutions (most of which make me want to cry) without batting a false eyelash. As a result, she had a baby.
This baby is named Reagan, and is supposed to call me Auntie Audra. Which delights me, but which she still refuses to do even though she's already 3 months old. More on that later.
I was unable to hold Reagan for awhile because apparently babies get ahead of themselves and usually insist on coming out prior to the delivery of their immune systems. That doesn't make any sense to me, and is generally inconvenient for everyone else, but it turns out there's some vaccine which grown humans only receive routinely if they teach in public schools, and if they do not- are kept entirely in the dark about. It is referred to by some set of initials. Hannah knows.
I was called upon to assist at baby Reagan's first photo shoot, the details of which may be secret, so I'll stop here on this topic except to say that it was nothing out of the ordinary. The usual booties and tutus. And feather boas. And handcuffs.
Reagan's father is John. John used to work at the bank, which made me feel important because I was friends with him. John decided that banking wasn't floating his boat, and so now, John is a policeman. Which makes me feel VERY important because I am friends with him. I almost got the opportunity once to be the subject of Arresting People Rehearsal, but schedules didn't pan out. I haven't given up hope though. There may be a brush-up.
Anyway, this morning I was called upon to watch Reagan for a couple hours while Hannah went to MCV to organize the entire hospital into a more productive operation.
Left on the counter for me was a typed sheet of bulleted instructions and a peanut-butter filled KONG toy. Left to my own discretion, this could've gotten ugly, but Hannah clarified before she left that the toy was for the dog.
[Note: KONG toys work very well with dogs. Robert Throckmorton's dog, Baxter, has one as well. You give a dog a KONG and you don't see it again for hours.]
Hannah leaves.
I go into the living room and stand staring at the tiny surveillance television that is installed on the side table with an aerial, thermal-imaging, fluorescent view of Reagan in her crib. She is laying there. Turning her head occasionally. Looks like a raisin on a dry-erase board from this angle. Then she starts clacking and gurgling. Hannah has told me that this means bottle time. I prepare the bottle as instructed and then go up the stairs to fetch the baby. I stand hesitant in the nursery doorway for a moment-- Do I take off my hat? Do I take off my glasses? Do I disassemble my top knot? Which presentation of me is least likely to terrify this baby?
I go with top knot and glasses. Better her get to know me as I am if I am going to be her Auntie.
Deep breath. I approach. I peer down at her over the railing. "Hello, Reagan." She ignores me completely. That won't do. I prod her cheek with my finger. She grins hugely. I immediately like her A LOT.
We go downstairs. We chat about how much I like her onesie and how much I wish they came in Auntie Audra sizes at Target. We step out on the side porch. We chat about how much taller her mother and father are than Auntie Audra and how that makes it challenging to get to the side porch as it is locked and the key is a place I cannot easily reach without a stepladder, let alone while I'm holding a small, bald person who is currently leaking from the mouth. I offer Reagan her bottle. She politely declines, but this makes total sense as she has just come down with a case of the hiccups. This goes on for a while, and I am marveling at her good attitude re. hiccups. I find them very frustrating. I try to provide calming atmosphere the best I can as she deals with her hiccups. I walk, I rub her back, I perform Tracks 9-11 of the "Hamilton" soundtrack- Disc 1. It's going well, I've just gotten to the counterpoint section of "Satisfied," and very suddenly it becomes clear that Reagan is NO LONGER OK with the hiccups. Screams. Shrieks. Wails. Gasping, tearing wrenching sobs grind my eardrums. The dog presses his teeth against the screen porch door in agony. Though slightly deafened, I am still impressed because I have never before met anyone who did not require breathing to cry. At all. Don't know how she did it.
We go inside, as I am starting to feel sympathy for the neighbors, and after a few laps of the den and a quick diaper check, the hiccups subside. Bottle is successfully consumed. Having been instructed to burp her thoroughly, I do so with relish. Well done, if I do say so myself. Burp cloth ideally placed, baby lying comfortably over my shoulder. Pat pat pat pat pat (wait, I saw John do this once and he was doing it harder) PAT PAT PAT PAT PAT--- and then ENORMOUSBELCHIMMEDIATELYSNORING. I've never seen anything like this either. This baby is marvel of modern science. Her transition from shriek => burp => deep deep sleep happened in under a second.
I congratulate myself on being an awesome baby-sitter. We have a seat on the couch. She is sleeping on my shoulder. I think about how this is the part where everyone with babies on the internet starts taking photos of the feet and the sleeping face. I decide that's not necessary as I've already gotten a great photo of her in my fedora and instead get caught up in a 50 year "Days Of Our Lives" reunion segment on "Live With Kelly & Michael." I tell Reagan, over her snores, all about Regis and Kathie Lee, and how she left the show and then Kelly came on. And how Regis then retired and was replaced by this Michael fellow, who I thought was a sports athlete but couldn't remember of what sort.
I'm starting to doze myself when suddenly, Reagan wakes up. See, I know this because Reagan, it turns out, does not wake up with a snuffle or a coo. Reagan wakes up with a cement-melting roar. Again- impressed.
I hurry her into her vibrating chair. She calms right down and seems to enjoy the hard plastic lions and spinny things hanging over her head. I tell her, in the interest of honesty, that I don't think that hard plastic lion and spinny things are very entertaining. As baby toys go. There's nothing shiny and the lion bit has a speaker attached but no visible button to push to make any sound come out. I imagine she'll want to move on soon.
The vibrating is good though, and things are swell until I hear it.
Now- I learned today that babies are a lot like microwaves. If quiet, you wouldn't know they were there. But if you look at them during these times, they can be fascinating.

• Babies: blinking, sticking their tongue out, eating their hands, smiling for reasons you don't know and making you wonder. 
• Microwaves: if you stare through the grid on the front long enough that cool effect will happen to your eyes and suddenly you won't be able to make out what's inside anymore.

Babies and microwaves will also let you know, through the use of sound, when something needs to be addressed.

•  Microwaves: a ding when your food is done. A repeated ding if you didn't hear it the first time or are not attending to it in a timely fashion. 
• Babies: a small wail, a medium wail, graduating to larger wails when in need of feeding, holding, or attention. Or - the sound a 20-gallon trash bag filled with pudding and pop rocks would make slamming into the pavement when dropped from a height of, oh say.... Mars. This is the sound babies will make to alert you that something has happened in their diaper. If you are really on top of your game, you can address this right away, because conveniently, this sound is made not by the baby's voice but by the very issue you need to address.

We hustle upstairs. Problem addressed; problem solved. Happy Reagan; Happy Auntie Audra. I have Fia Foley to thank for my proficiency in this matter.
Very shortly after this, John arrived home from the gym and, beaming, reached out his arms for his daughter. He says, "Hey, Gorgeous!" and tells her her face looks thin.
Auntie Audra will take you for frozen yogurt, Reagan. Anytime.

I Need A Fruit Bowl (A Story With Pictures)

I knew one thing for sure when I woke up this morning: Baby Jesus has better things to do than cuddle my pomegranates.
I knew a second thing for sure by 12:30PM, and that was that Cherie's Antique Emporium is located on Lickinghole Road.

A bit of backstory- Five or so years ago when I was in Garden Ridge purchasing a golden bird Christmas ornament for my hair, I happened down the outdoor decor aisle. I was pleased to discover on this aisle that, contrary to what I had always assumed, the enormous light up Nativity characters were available for individual purchase. Because I was amused by this and because I didn't have room in my apartment at the time for either a cow or the tallest of the wise men, I purchased the baby in the manger piece. I figured this would serve well as an ambient night light, should that need arise, and also as a potentially amusing conversation piece. (Note: it only works as a conversation piece if you converse about it. I learned this in the case of one Alexander Sapp, who saw it once sitting unplugged next to the oven and has not seemed quite comfortable around me since.)
Anyway, the need of a night light has yet to arise, but- I did purchase two luscious pomegranates (I say luscious because they are round; I actually know nothing about the desired attributes of pomegranates) at Kroger yesterday. When I arrived home, I realized I had no bowl in which to place them, or fruit of any kind. Not wanting to just lay them on the counter top lest they roll off and splatter, I finally realized an excellent sitting place for them was just off the shoulders of the baby in the manger.

But I still wanted a fruit bowl. I figured- a cool fruit bowl could be found. Something covered in jewels or something. So this morning, I picked up Adam Dorland, who is excellent at shopping for such items, and after a brief stop for egg sandwiches, we went on our way. There is an antique store in Ashland, VA which Adam frequents and which I have visited on occasion. Always entertaining, always lots of rotting chairs, always a difficult time getting to the restroom due to dangerous numbers of portraits propped up in the hallway. Today, however, not only was the iron cat doorstop wearing lipstick I wanted too expensive, there also was no fruit bowl to suit my specifications.
We decide to go to the gas station. I love going to the gas station. No matter WHAT, I can always find something I like there. En route, Adam consults his phone and discovers that there is another antique store less than a mile away. The gas station trip turns out to be a raging triumph, and, riding the exhilarating wave of that success, we decide to throw caution to the wind and check out Cherie's Antique Emporium.

Google Maps directs us to a tiny road behind a strip mall which is lined neatly with very small, very warehouse-y looking shops. So, we are not expecting this "Emporium" to be much. We scoff in the car as we approach. "What does 'Emporium' even literally mean? I'd always figured it meant large in some way. Psshhht." (Side note: Just looked it up. Merriam Webster features the word "large" nowhere in the definition.)
We pull up. The store facade is, indeed, very wee. Scattered across the lawn are enormous wooden cutouts of such characters as Elvis and a baby-delivering stork. There is a square of folding tables assembled on which are many boxes of Ziploc bags full of jewelry. These bags are labeled with what is inside. Which was helpful and not at all creepy until we got to the one labeled "SINGLE EARRINGS." I've thought about this for a little while though, and realized that for those bold enough to mix-n-match, this is not an bad idea. Also, you could use a single earring as a brooch for a baby.
I am thinking at this point that checking out the inside of the store may not take long at all, and how we should go get frozen yogurt. But then we open the door.
I have NEVER in my life seen so many things. Never. It was like if six centuries worth of people had been saving all their things for their whole lives and storing them in an attic, and then when each new generation got started- nothing got cleared away- the older stuff just got pushed to the back of the shelf and the new stuff placed in front of it. Shelves full to the back wall of figurines, books, roller skates, teacups, statues, dolls. You couldn't really even remove at item to check and see if you wanted to buy it because if you did, the whole shelving unit wobbled and threatened to fall over. I'm sure the store owners have no idea what's even there beyond a certain layer.
Speaking of the store owner, if this person's name was "Cherie," I'll eat a box of thorny spatulas.
I will now give you a brief overview of the selection available to you should you happen up Lickinghole Road and into this particular emporium:
-Thousands of ceramic roosters. Matt Shofner would've been in heaven, and Adam and I debated over which one, of them all, would be the best one to get him were we to get him one today. We then decided that one day Matt is probably going to regret announcing to everyone his affinity for roosters as his home already at this early point in life has many things rooster-shaped; salt and pepper shakers, mantelpiece regalia, sofas. Not really sofas. But I think that would be awesome.
-Those clear glass round adorable gemstone bears from the late 1980s with your color gemstone cut into the shape of a heart and glued in the corresponding location on the bear's chest. I always wanted one of those. I restrained myself.
-A very tiny old plastic chicken which if you smash down on his head will lay 3 eggs for you. $20.
-A rubber pumpkin SO tiny it could not even fit a price tag. I like to pretend that if something is not marked with a price, it is free. I'll let you decide if I stole that free pumpkin or not.
-A doll lady in a long fruit-print dress with sausage curls and a sad expression whose job it is to hang from a hook and have trash bags pulled out of her bottom. Seen below:

We then discovered the store was arranged into Sections. For example:
-The Boxes of Horses Section.

-The Homey Signage Section.

-The Ceramic Cats Section (Anyone who knows me knows I deserve a medal for not having any more ceramic cats to my name after this adventure.) I have included a photograph of this particular cat because it is a cat made in an identical mold to the cat which I took a shine to and started carrying around at a party held at Paul Major's deceased grandmother's home and eventually was told I could just have when I refused to put it down for anything, including photographs or eating. But- this one has green eyes, and mine has blue.

-The Extremely Creepy Dolls Who Look Like Corpses Section. This one I liked because it was obviously a baby with white hair. Or a baby going as Einstein for Halloween. And either option is creepy when said baby is prone on a scarlet pillow.

-The Decanter Section. This was a great section. I didn't take a picture because I felt as though I may have been under surveillance, but you should know there was a Colonel Sanders Decanter. OR- you can't be sure- it may have been a Frank Creasy In His Role As Cousin Jeff In Virginia Repertory Theatre's Production Of "Mame" Decanter.

-The Lighthouse Section. I was delighted to discover this section because my father loves lighthouses, but alas, none of these lighthouses came quite up to snuff.

-The Gnome/African Safari Animal Section. An obvious pairing. Gnafrica.

-The Tiny Ceramic People Audra Needs To Put On Her Bookcase Next To Her Tiny One-Handed Ceramic Nun Section. A purchase was made.

-The I Was Seriously Considering Getting Bangs After Maggie Took This Picture:

                                                                  But This Doll:

 Has The Same Texture Hair As I Do And If I Did Get Bangs That's What I Would Look Like So Now I Might Reconsider Section.

-The Dolls Who Are Either Sad Because Their Eyes Are Sewn Shut Or Are Having Nightmares Section. This section was somewhat sparsely populated.

And finally...

-The Section Where Everything Seems Unrelated But I Really Hope There's A Secret Connection Section.
For example, this beautiful Flamenco lady guitarist, scale, and stuffed goose. On that note, I will give $5 to the first person to successfully come up with a good answer to the riddle of what those three things have in common. Bo Wilson? Ford Flannagan? Irene Ziegler?

I made two purchases, one of which is a small, very scrolly, elegant pitcher covered in tiny cameo paintings of all the Presidents of the United States. And Beethoven. It's labeled Andrew Jackson but I maintain it's Beethoven.
Adam made the following purchase:

We told the person behind the counter it was my birthday and I smiled so I received $5 off my items. Then the person behind the counter told us that we hadn't seen the dead bodies yet.

So after we left Cherie's, we were still sans fruit bowl. Adam suggested Diversity Thrift. Which was a great call, because we saw Lucian Restivo and I was also able to purchase 4 yellow plates, 4 yellow cereal bowls, and a huge yellow fruit bowl AND sex for $3. See?

And I'm especially excited because my newly purchased yellow cereal bowls will go great with my newly purchased birthday Count Chocula. Success.
And now Baby Jesus has nothing to hold.