Take a Walk

I survived quite a few of the last ten months by walking. Oliver wasn't a fan of sleeping, but seemed to enjoy the fresh air. I was exhausted emotionally, but itching for some movement. Plunking Oliver into the stroller and going for a long walk, a short walk, and meander, a stroll... it didn't matter. We went along the water. We went into town. We went to the coffee shop. It was a great system.

When he figured out napping we kept it up, we just went between his naps and he loved that too.

At some point recently he changed his mind. Our very expensive stroller now just sits under the house in our storage area - cold, lonely and useless. Every once in awhile I try again. Plunk him in it with toys, with snacks... doesn't matter. He screams going in, settles down down for five minutes and then twists himself out, thrashes around, screams, cries... the whole nine yards until I give in and carry him. Then I'm one of those parents pushing a stroller and carrying their child. I used to role my eyes at them. "Why not put your child in the stroller?" I used to wonder. I get it now.

So a friend (thanks Kimberley) suggested a wagon. She said perhaps Oliver couldn't see enough in the stroller and that's why he was fine when I held him. I scoured the 'net and made the excursion to Saanich today. As I drove home with my trunk banging against the wagon praying I'd secured the bungee cord well enough I crossed my fingers it was worth it.

We got home and the sun was shining, so I dropped our stuff off inside and loaded the monkey in. I have to say right now that compared to my Bob stroller, the wagon sucks. It doesn't maneuver well; it's heavy; I ran into stuff by accident because you can't see something you are dragging behind you; it's so loud; there's no where to put anything because Oliver would eat it or throw it out of the wagon.... but for all that, the kid loved it. We walked all the way to the park (so what if that's only 10 minutes?), played, loaded him back in and walked all the way home. He grinned, he flapped his arms, he squealed in delight. He only cried right at the end, and I think that's only because I ran into something (oops). Still, I never carried him.

I don't know about you, but I'll put up with this loud, heavy, awkward hunk of plastic if it means not carrying the equivalent of a 20 pound squirmy bag of potatoes.