Laura's mother and brother stayed with us as we celebrated Christmas. And last friday I pick Terry up at Alewife, and then head over to the supermarket while Laura had a little nap to help relieve some of the holiday stress. We didn't have too much to get, just some egg nog, sliced cheese, soda, ice cream, and other holiday essentials.

Being the middle of the day, the store wasn't too crowded, so we hop into a check out line, and start loading up the belt. Now, even though this is glamorous Arlington, the employees at Stop & Shop are your typical supermarket clerks. Nice, but not too bright. Anyway, the clerk makes a little small talk and asks about Andy, Where is he from?

I stare, slack-jawed, unable to comprehend the question for a few seconds.

I'm sorry? I ask.

Your son, what country is he from?

Um, he's not adopted.

Oh, he looks asian, I'm sorry.

That's funny, you're not the first person to say that. The nurse at the hospital actually said that right after he was born.

It wasn't until yesterday, nearly a week later, that I realized that perhaps he wasn't making such a huge assumption. Or rather, he was making the wrong assumption altogether. You see, I was at the supermarket with Terry. And a baby. In Massachusetts, if you know what I mean.