For this post, I ask you to time travel with me, to move through time, back to that place where my belly stuck straight out and my feet looked like marshmallows.
After a long day at work and a grueling commute, Husband would draw me a bath and I would lower myself slowly into the water. Bliss! My belly would ripple with each little kick, I'd call for a glass of cool water, and I'd turn my attention to my favorite I'm-pregnant-in-the-bathtub-show: American Pickers.
And now: back to the present day.
Oh, I love old treasures and cute, old people. It makes sense that I have an Archaeology degree and spend way too much time in antique stores, simply admiring dressers with broken drawers, but never actually buying anything.
Last weekend, I talked my mom into stopping by an antique store on a lonely piece of highway, 15 minutes out from town. It was quite lovely, with a surprising assortment of antique chairs (I have a thing for chairs) and baby books from the 1950s.
Side note: If your baby isn't having regular bowel movements over the toilet by 8 months (yep, 8 months), you should probably see a doctor and discuss any problems that would prevent toilet training.
(Gotta love 1957!)
But the best part of the antique store was when a dude with torn-up jeans and a cigarette invited us to view his private picker shed. Yes, he even referred to it as the "real American Pickers experience."
And how could I pass up an opportunity like that?!
I, Kieren, became an American Picker.
And here is what I saw:
Being a picker was a dream come true. In addition to the pizza guy knowing my order by heart, I'd say I've lived a very fully life.
Though I failed to make any purchases, I did survive the ordeal, and I would be more than happy to point you in the direction of a few light fixtures.
