So, last week I decided that 3 weeks spent making a significant dent in the same spot on the couch was enough 'recoop' time. I needed to get my ass outside otherwise I was probably going to be a permanant fixture attached to that couch. Like that breastmilk stain on the armrest or the ice cream glob that won't come out of the throw pillow. Both of which I had nothing to do with, btw. It was the dog.
Unfortunately, I had heard horror stories of women that went back to strenuous exercise too soon after giving birth and they broke bones or seriously injured themselves. THAT is something I definitely didn't need. But walking seemed harmless enough. And the Weather Gods have graced us, in our fine flat state, with some cooler fall temps, so it was settled....walking here we come.
And by 'we', I mean baby girl, puppy, and I. I mean, obviously I have to take the child....can't leave her alone for second or her milkshake calls all the boys to the yard.
(That was probably inappropriate. Oh well. Save me a drink in Hell.) Then, Wyatt looked so sad when I was hauling the exuberant amount of shit, that accompanies a small little humanoid, out to the car that I just HAD to take him too.
I may have
sightly over-extended myself by taking both the baby AND the dog on our first walk at the park.
Just slightly.
After the excruciating long ass time it took to figure out how the damn stroller folded up (which I made a lot harder than it should have been) I loaded Dillyn in the car, then grabbed the diaper bag, made sure I had some water, threw apart my nightstand drawer looking for my ear buds, rummaged in the dog bag for his stupid leash, and finally loaded the dog in the back of the jeep. And we were off. Like the effing Griswolds.
Arriving at the park was uneventful....getting ready to actually start the walk, that's a whole other story. Do you know that it is physically impossible to hold onto a stroller and try to control your dog at the same time??? Well, it is. Trying to put the halter leash on Wyatt was like trying to put lipstick on a hippo. All the while, making sure the baby didn't roll away.
I finally got the dog wrangled, the kid locked in the stroller, grabbed the keys, phone, ear buds, water, diapers, wipes, binky, blanket, and the liter of tequila that I'm going to chug on the way to the padded cell. Off we went. In public. Lord help us.
The walk itself was surprisingly good. After the stroller rammed Wyatt's back legs 52 times when he crossed in front of its path, he finally got the gist of how this whole 'walking with the stroller thing' works. We took a leisurely jaunt around the city park, and I decided that half a mile just wasn't enough. So we headed into this nice little neighborhood across from the park. And when I say nice, I mean houses 3 times the size of mine, 4-car garages that probably hold Land Rovers, all nestled around a cozy private LAKE. Not a little pond with paddle boats, a freaking LAKE with ski boats. Ya, we're talking fireplaces on the decks and pretty manicured lawns taken care of by professional lawn peeps.
It's fine. I'll fit right in. In my throw-up stained sweatpants and college beer drinking shirt. It's cool.
Actually, I figured I was safe because it was 10am in the morning, on a Tuesday....I mean, these people gotta work right?
Wrong.
On every damn corner there was a family playing in their yard or someone driving by or someone getting their mail. Jesus H Christ.
As if my rats nest hair and stained clothes weren't bad enough, we're about half way through the neighborhood, and it happens.....Wyatt takes the most horrendous dumb right on someone's perfectly green grass.
I die. I die.
Thank the Lords of the Baking Soda Scent Control Diaper Poop Bags
(Jess, I love you long time for those!) I remembered to bring one just in case Dillyn dropped a load and I had no where to throw away the diaper. Seriously, having that kid just saved my life. I never remember dog poop bags. Ever. And the one time I bring one FOR A BABY, the damn dog poops the biggest, stinkiest poop of his life.
So there I am, trying to hold the stroller and the dog and pick up his load without adding my breakfast to the pretty lawn too. Obviously, I'm not Wonder Woman, something was going to have to give. And I knew the dog wouldn't sit still, so I put the brake on the stroller, re-gripped the leash a little tighter and tried to bend over to grab the poo. But wait, out of the corner of my eye I see the stroller rolling away down the street, I scream obscenities, went to run after it, get wrapped up in the leash, the dog wants to go the other direction, damn near face plant the concrete, but I finally wrestle him toward the stroller, get it stopped, back everyone up, and again MAKE SURE I put the brake on correctly this time as I try Poop Pick Up #2.
All the while, I look around to make sure I don't have an audience, and sure enough, a mother and three kids are staring straight at me with this horrified look on their face.
Awesome.
Mother of the Year, right here.
I grab the poo, the dog, and the kid and speed off (as best you can with a kid and a canine).
I'm pretty sure this ranks up there with the
Boob Out At The Vet's Office day.
Embarrassment Level: Grand Champion
But I can still smile, because at least everyone is still alive.
Ugh.
