Last summer, the downtown farmers market was part of my Saturday routine.
Lola would kick me awake around 7 a.m.
I would dig through my closet in search of anything that still fit my gigantic figure.
Tricky in and of itself, but toss in the fact it also had to be light enough to prevent me from overheating and dropping dead, and you've got yourself a real challenge.
I would drag Reece out of bed and out the door, grumbling the whole way about "parking" and "crowds" and "cash only" and "baby's education fund."
Luckily, all it took was a Brugge's Belgian waffle to cheer him up.
I can't tell you how many times I made the rounds.
I memorized the order of the booths.
Impressive, since they rotated every couple of weeks.
I tried nearly all the free samples.
I made friends with my favorite vendors.
I'm fairly certain I was known as the token about-to-pop-any-second pregnant girl, desperate to walk the baby right out.
After Lola was born, I took her to the market once before it closed for the season.
I realized how much easier it was to navigate without a stroller.
But I loved sharing that part of my life with her.
You know, once she was outside me and able to take in the sights and not just the sounds.
When June rolled around this year, I grew giddy with anticipation.
I seriously contemplated making a paper chain.
I couldn't wait to kick off another summer with round two of one of my Salt Lake City favorites.
And then the fates lined up against me and decided to bring that tradition to a crashing hault.
Every single time I tried to go to the market, some big news story would break.
And because I'm the weekend internet producer, I had to abandon all hopes of samples, people watching and Belgian waffles in exchange for the dreariness of oil spills, fatal car crashes, massive fires and untimely deaths.
It almost became the joke in the newsroom.
"Oh, Jessica's going to the farmers market? That must mean something is going to blow up today."
We spent a full 90 minutes wandering the market, and nothing blew up.
At least not that I know of.
(Please excuse the cell phone pictures)
Since Lola refuses to eat most of what we give her these days, she decided to be starving the moment we stepped into the market.
Thank goodness for Great Harvest and free bread slices.
In case you're wondering, she ate the entire thing.
With the exception of the chunks she used to decorate the floor of Uncle Justin's booth.
Reece purchased this year's must-have market item: freshly squeezed mint limeade.
For $5, it better make him invincible.
Lola quite liked it.
I think the wet diaper that ensued was worth about $3.50.
After braving the massive crowds (is it just me or did the entire world discover the market this year?) and suffocating heat (isn't it supposed to be fall already?) until the point of extreme grumpiness on all ends, the three of us decided it was time to call it a day.
But I might have to go back next week for one of these:
That is, if nothing blows up.