Milkshake excursion

It was a scorcher here today -- plants wilting, baby sweating through her swaddles, and me hiding the family inside from the midday sun. ("No! You can't go outside! And shut that door!")

So when our Chebbles asked me if we could go to get a milkshake tonight, sweetly and repeatedly, I had to find a way to do it. Hub-D had our car, so at 7:30 tonight, I snapped my children into the double stroller and skedaddled off in search frozen dairy products.

Baby V was already ready for bed, but I reasoned that she could snooze in the stroller.

Of course this theory was shot to hell by the bumps in the road between here and the milkshake joint. Every big bump seemed to be on her side of the stroller, and it would snap the baby out of sleep, and her arms would fling wide in the newborn "Noro reflex" and her eyes would fly open. This happened about 75 times between home and our destination.

I felt like kind of an assy mom, putting her through that. But she didn't cry in exasperation. No, because she's Baby V, she just gave up on the notion of sleep and instead watched the trees and listened to her sister sing "Row Row Row Your Boat" at the top of her lungs along the way.

I thought about exercise. I love running, and before I began bearing children, I could survive 10K races quite nicely. But as I huffed and puffed 44 pounds of child and 20 pounds of stroller between here and the milkshake, I made the decision to hold off running until after we're done trying to produce Baby #3. (I guess technically Baby #5 or 6 or whatever, ask the Supreme Court how many babies we're on, I'm not sure how to categorize everyone.)

See, between my first and second miscarriage, Hub-D and I were having trouble conceiving. My ovulation was difficult to predict and things just weren't coming together. I went to see my OB, who told me that as long as I am a skinny running power-yogini, I'm not going to get pregnant. And as soon as I stopped the long runs, I was knocked up.

So for me, the chubbier I am, the easier I get pregnant. It's kind of a nice side benefit for TTC for me, although I'll miss the marvelous endorphins of a good run.

With that decision made, I pushed the stroller with gusto -- hoping to get the milkshake errand wrapped up and Baby V home before she completely unraveled. We did make it in good time, and Chebbles and Baby V were adored by everyone along the way...

"How old is your baby?"
"Eleven weeks."
"NO!! She's REALLY BIG. And look at that HAIR!"

...

"Ma'am you have a beautiful family."

Yeah, I know, and you didn't even see Hub-D in his scrubs!

We split the strawberry milkshake into two cups, and headed for home. Chebbles finished her cup in the stroller, then handed it to me, "I'm done!"

"OK, Chebs, did you like your milkshake?"
"Yes."
(two minutes pass)
"Mama, when will we get a milkshake?"
"We just had milkshakes."
"Mama, when will I get one?"
"You just ate a strawberry milkshake."
"Where is it?"
"You just gave me your empty cup after you finished the whole milkshake."
"But where is the milkshake?"
"In your belly."
"Where is MY milkshake?"
"In your belly."
"Can I have a milkshake?"

She relaxed at some point, confident that she would get a milkshake sometime soon.

It was great to be outside after breathing processed air all day, and we saw a cat that looked like Otto stretched out for us to admire on the way home.

Baby V was a puddle of fussy sleepiness by the time I lay her in her crib at 9pm, but the whole excursion was worth it, me and my beautiful family.