|The Grateful Dead at Soldier Field, 1991|
My husband’s concern for us was tender and sweet. Slightly smothering at times but I felt very much loved and cared for and even more so when I was pregnant.
He is a worrier. Not a risk taker. He is practical.
So asking if we (he, me and baby bump) could accompany some out-of-town friends to a concert that weekend was pushing the envelope for him.
“It’s free fun! And they have kick butt seats,” I added, thinking it would sex up the deal since disposable income didn't exist.
He didn’t buy it. His list of reasons was a mile long for why we shouldn’t put our baby or me at risk in a crowd of 50,000 people.
“What happens if you get bumped or pushed or fell? I don’t like it. At all.”
“You’re right, Honey,” I said, head hung low.
When you’re 8 months, 1 week pregnant, there aren’t a lot of things you can physically do, or feel like doing, or are excited to do. To say I wasn’t severely disappointed would be lying.
My girlfriend suggested retail therapy.
“It always works!”
So we headed to Michigan Avenue and Water Tower Place.
And that’s when the skies opened up and a beaming glow from up above shined down on me.
Okay. Not really, but the tables turned, for sure.
“Dr. Fitzmaurice! Hiiiii! What are you doing in the city?” I asked, feeling a little bit busted for some reason, running into my baby doctor in downtown Chicago.
“Hanging out for the weekend. What are you doing in the city?”
(Dr. Fitzmaurice: approximately 37 years old, youngest member of the OBGYN practice, apparently hip.)
“This is my childhood friend, Cristina. We were hoping to go to a concert tonight at Solider Field.”
“The Grateful Dead! That’s so cool! What do you mean hoping?”
“I’ve met him.”
“Well, he’s having a problem with me attending because I’m due so soon. He’s heard they squirt acid or LSD from water bottles at people walking by. And, of course, people smoking dope. He thinks drugs will get into my system and put the baby at risk. We’re sitting in the sound booth area, away from the crowd, so all we really have to do is get inside!”
“Just a second,” he said.
Grabbing his wallet from the back pocket of stylish jeans, he removed a business card. Began writing.
“I give Gina permission to attend the Grateful Dead concert tonight at Solider Field. The wellbeing of your baby will not be at risk if she is squirt with water. Also, there is little chance she will hallucinate, much to her possible dismay. Bill”
“This is outstanding!” I hugged him.
“If he has a problem, tell him to call me. Hey, do you have any extra tickets?”
(Dr. Fitzmaurice: approximately 37 years old, youngest member of the OBGYN practice, totally hip)
I left the mall with a spring in my step as we walked back to my friend’s hotel. I had a permission slip! Na, na, na, na, na, nah!!!!!
“And I DID NOT forge this,” I said as I gleefully presented the card to my husband.
|The Grateful Dead Concert at Soldier Field, 1991|
photo credit: davidmcgough.com
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