Babies in Peril

     The blood donor clinic in Halifax is moving to a new location.  The husband, kid and I were out for a walk last weekend and sauntered by the current building.  It’s an older brick low rise that looks a little worse for wear.  While pushing the stroller, my husband turned to me and said, ‘you know, we could buy that, it has potential for the zombie apocalypse.’ 

    I replied, ‘Too many windows and I don’t like the location.’  He mumbled something about an effective blockade of the windows but I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. 

    This is the first time we’ve discussed the zombie apocalypse since the birth of the child.  A shared interest in zombie invasion tactical planning has been a contributing factor in our happy marriage.  We’ve discussed the merits of a variety of locations with relation to supply lines, defense; long term survival.  The joy associated with the purchase of our first home was dimmed by the prospect of giving up our all but zombie proof third floor apartment.  Those of you rolling your eyes, enjoy eating your neighbor’s spleen.

    After we had the kid we were too tired to think about anything but sleep so it didn’t come up for a while.  This summer, we were cat-sitting for some good friends who have a massive television.  It’s an ‘oh my god I can see each blade of grass I would love to watch golf all night’, type of television.   Left alone with the TV and to our own nerdy devices, we put in, ‘The Return of the King,’ the last Lord of the Rings movie.  It was awesome.  The battles were bloodier, the elves were hotter and Middle Earth was more breathtaking than New Zealand. 

    Anyway, we finally got to the last big ass battle.   I’ve seen that movie five or six times and I never gave two hoots about the people of Minas Tirith.  There’s too much other stuff happening; a whole lot of orcs and creepy trannies on elephants and Legolas.  Who gives a crap about random peasants?  On this viewing I notice it.  I mean, it’s barely a subliminal message of a shot.  It’s a woman with a small baby in the city with nowhere to hide when the orcs came.   

Sweet Jesus. 

    I looked at the husband, our eyes met and then we both looked at the snoozing infant.  I mean, that would be really scary man.  The rest of the movie was ruined due to my tension.  Well, some might say the rest of the movie was ruined by Peter Jackson but my being freaked out didn’t help.

    Not two nights later I watched Cold Mountain.  I find the movie annoying but there’s a super hot sex scene near the end so I figured I would hang in till that went down.  There’s a minor scene where Natalie Portman’s baby is absconded by Yankees and left out in the cold with no covers.  Previously, I thought the baby would be fine, whatever, give them the pig.  This time, I literally clapped my hands when Jude Law shot the Yankee bastards. 

    If fake babies in peril are this upsetting, how the hell am I supposed to concentrate on a real life zombie escape plan?  When I allow my mind to wander over to zombie town I’m reminded that we have chosen to live on a peninsula!  What were we thinking?  This is one of those surprises that parenthood has shoved under my door.  Maybe when he’s a bit older I’ll be able to work out something.  For now we’re just going to have to wing it.