“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Foster mumbles.
“This way when you’re changing the baby’s diaper, he or she has something to look at.” She demonstrates over a changing table where a plastic baby lies.
“They can’t just be happy looking at Mom or Dad?” Foster looks at the woman as though she’s an idiot.
She takes it off and puts it back on display. “You don’t want the baby to be bored.”
“Boredom never killed anyone.” To his credit, Foster’s voice isn’t the grumpiest I’ve ever heard it.
I smile at Sally. “Thanks for explaining it to us.”
Foster picks up something else and gives me a questioning look.
“It’s a nasal aspirator.” Sally takes it from Foster. “See, you put this in the baby’s nose and then you suck.”
“I what?” Foster palms the back of his neck.
She smiles at him. “You suck, and the boogers come out.”
He looks at me, and I think he might be starting to panic.
“It’s one of our most popular sellers,” Sally assures us.
I pick up a spatula-looking thing. “And this?”
“To spread the diaper cream so you don’t get it on your hands.” She again demonstrates on the doll as if we can’t put two and two together.
“What haven’t they invented?” Foster continues to pick up items and put them down, each one seeming to make him more baffled.
“Thanks, Sally. This is all a lot for first-time parents, but you’ve been more than helpful.” I give her what I hope looks like a sincere smile.
“Of course, I’ll leave you two to it, but just grab me if you need me.” She looks at Foster, and her gaze feels a little covetous to me.
I’m about to growl and show my teeth.
What the hell was that?
Foster is oblivious, hitting a mobile with his finger. “Hey.” He turns to me after Sally leaves us alone. “I don’t want anything baseball.”
I stop, but he continues checking things out, so I follow him. “What?”
“I don’t want any baseball things for the crib or on the walls. Nothing baseball, okay?”
He tries to walk away, so I take his wrist and tug him back to me. “Why?”
He glances toward Sally. Thankfully, the phone rings, and she walks away to answer it. At this point, I don’t even care that she’s probably telling whoever is on the phone that we’re here.
“Because I’m not going to shove anything down my kid’s throat.”
I frown. “But you love baseball, no?”
I don’t have any specific plans on what I want for the baby’s room, but I’m thrown that a major league pitcher doesn’t want anything baseball in his child’s room.
“I do love it, but I didn’t always. And I don’t want him or her to feel like they have to like something just because I do.”
It sounds as though this really matters to Foster, and I figure this is a fight I have no say in, so I nod. “Okay, no baseball. But just so you know, lots of people are probably going to give us baseball-themed gifts.”
He shrugs. “That’s fine. But we won’t buy any.”
