This week, I let the disturbing, erratic weather systems (wind, rain, snow) blow past my window, venturing out for a short walk at the occasional sun-break. Even that felt like a stretch. A newborn child? Snow in Los Angeles? Maybe I’d never leave the house again! But then…an errand called. And that errand had a name: Costco.
It is well documented that a birthing person undergoes significant physical, mental, and emotional changes but through some miracle of science their partner does, too. In my husband’s case, I could tell something was up when he told me he thought we should get a Costco membership.
I had, prior to procreation, lightly floated the idea mostly for toilet paper purposes. He balked on the grounds of “Do we really need that much of anything?” So it was a pleasant surprise to hear some evolutionary switch had flipped and he now saw the wisdom of wholesale bulk. He filled out an application and we awaited our gestating child and Costco membership cards with equal excitement.
As it turned out, the child came before the cards did. And so we were off, in search of the blessed cards.
Our local Costco is famously a crowded nightmare. I had been there once, with my old roommate (and Costco member), Frankie. It was right after I moved to LA and I decided to throw myself an elaborate birthday party rather than address my depression with medication. We sailed through the store on an orange cart, purchasing enormous bottles of Costco brand liquors that then lingered in our house for years.
It being a Tuesday afternoon the Costco was already inexplicably packed.
When we had successfully fought our way to a parking space, I waited in the car to tend to the tiny newborn while my husband entered the fray in search of the cards. 20 minutes later, he came rushing back to the car, telling me a woman named Genevieve was waiting for me to show her my driver’s license at the membership desk. We traded off the baby in the back of the Corolla and I ventured in.
I smooth talked (straightforwardly explained) my way past the Costco employee guarding the entrance and quickly clocked a woman gesturing to me from behind a Formica desk. This was Genevieve.
She got straight to the point and asked for my license, but as she finished her computer task we chatted about the baby. She asked me what I had. When people ask what you had or what you are having the answer they are looking for, FYI, is not “a baby” but the biological sex of your child. It makes sense because there’s literally not a lot of other information babies have to offer at this stage. It’s after you tell them what kind of baby you’re having that people reveal their gender psychosis.
I told Genevieve I was having a girl and Genevieve said that girls are a lot of fun as she led me over to a station with a tiny camera and bright green backdrop where she took my membership photo. She listed things you can do with girls, like “dress them in cute clothes that aren’t Marvel or cars, pierce their ears, put bows on them, and braid their hair.” She paused. “Well I guess you can do that with a boy, too. If they have long hair.” I nodded. She paused. And then: “Not in our family, though.” Before I could process this dark turn, she chirpily handed me my new card and sent me on my way. In a daze, I relieved my husband so he could come back and actually do the shopping, mostly for diaps and wipes. Genevieve said we could save up to $80 a year on diaps and wipes if we upgraded to Executive Membership, but my husband told her we’d see how the regular membership went for now.
We departed the Costco parking lot with a car full diaps and wipes and a bunch of other stuff we may not have fully needed, which is exactly what my husband predicted would happen and was coming true at his own hands.
We did it! An errand! Proof that life doesn’t stop when you have a child! It goes on, and you do it in shifts, and need to keep another human alive now, too. It was a win.
Until I made the fatal mistake of looking at the photograph Genevieve took:
Maybe I’ll get to retake it when we upgrade to the Executive Membership level.
You look beautiful! And when the term “sun breaks” starts being used in LA we’re headed for trouble. Right here in Angel city. And that starts with T and rhymes with P that stands for Precipitation.
Glad to see your new status (“mom”) has rendered you funnier and sharper than ever! This had me chuckling aloud with only my dog to hear me.