Esther Brady Crawford - faintstarlite

Helllllo Wisconsin!

Yes, that’s the opening line to “That 70’s Show” and every year when I’m at the Wisconsin State Fair it feels appropriate to yell that out at least once.

How can it be that my little boy is no longer a newborn? Just this past week I had to sort through his clothes, removing everything with the newborn label… which somehow makes it feel very final. We may never have another newborn phase in our household – at least not if our plan to adopt all subsequent children goes through (assuming I can keep my fertile Myrtle-ness in check). And so folding up the tiny onesies that will get split up between my two pregnant sister-in-laws made me feel a bit sniffley and reminiscent of his first few days in the world.

At the State Fair a sheep lady self-assuredly asked if this was our son’s first outing. Nick & I both giggled. First outing? Can’t she see how big he is? He’s 13 weeks for goodness sake! This boy has already been in 3 states and was initiated into the land of gross flight delays before he could roll over. He’s been to a rock concert (The Offspring), was walked across the National Mall, and has looked through the glass skydeck on the 103rd floor of the Sears Tower. Oh the places he’ll go.

In context, the State Fair is a mere blip on the radar – soon he’ll be getting his passport stamped in Egypt and Jordan. Although to be fair, it’s quite possibly the only place on earth where you can find virtually every edible item skewered with a stick. Take for instance the deep fried smores on a stick. Seriously, who ever thought that sounded like a good idea? It had to be a carnie who had smoked one too many…