Tomorrow will mark Daphne’s very first Red Sox game.

Go Sox.

Some of you might be unaware of the gravity of this event, and no amount of explanation on my part will do it justice.  Suffice to say that this is a very important milestone in our household.  I mean, Jen and I went to Fenway on our honeymoon for God’s sake…  (Yes, my wife is a very understanding woman.)

Speaking of which, it’s slightly unfortunate that Daphne’s First Game couldn’t be at Fenway, however Minute Maid is a lovely park and is a great place to watch a baseball game, so all’s fine.

The complicated logistics of taking a baby to a ballgame are becoming apparent now though.

In addition to all the normal baby accoutrement we lug around, we also need: ready-made Similac bottles; Cheerios; teething toys; a book or two; and some serious antibacterial wipes in case she tries to crawl on the ballpark floor.  Then, once we’re at Minute Maid, she’ll need ice cream, some juice/water, some cheese, and undoubtedly some “First Game” keepsakes from the gift shop.    We’re also taking two cars (my dad and Cary are coming with us), as a failsafe exit strategy in the event of Daphne Meltdown.

Who, me?

This is a far cry from a game I attended almost exactly a decade ago, where a much younger Jeremiah (although admittedly too old to be pulling such a stunt), stepped up to the ticket counter armed with $20 and a dream…
Basically I wanted to see if I could tie one on at a baseball game on the back of just one Andrew Jackson.  (Soon to be Harriet Tubman.)
And you’ll be happy to know that yes, it is indeed still possible, pending you’re willing/able to smuggle in a small bottle of Jim Beam to mix liberally with your Coke in a large souvenir cup.
Good times.

Okay folks, I’ll see you Monday.  Where you’ll likely have to suffer through a slideshow of an adorable little girl decked out in Red Sox gear.

j.s.