Broken Momie

I had a truly traumatizing Wednesday evening that led to an almost equally difficult Thursday. My Wednesday started off well with an easy summer camp drop off, luxurious walk through the neighborhood, manicure, and lunch from the bakery. The problems really began after nap was done. Small Human had been full of tantrums as soon as I picked him up from camp (which he never wants to leave), and unfortunately continued post nap.

He was driving me crazy and when I have a tough time my go-to comfort food is always a Big Mac with extra sauce. Since my OB appointment this week went well and my weight has been right on track, I didn't feel guilty about indulging. I learned a hard lesson that day about only going to drive-thrus, however. I will now only exclusively go to drive-thrus if I am ever fast fooding it.

The closest McDonald's to our house is a walk-in only, and I'm no fool, I coached Noah on how to behave in order to acquire some french fry action. "Don't run away from mommy. Stay close to mommy. Stand next to mommy. Listen to mommy." Silly Momie took toddler assent to be the equivalent of a binding legal agreement, which it most certainly never is in the toddler world.

If the service had been faster, I bet this whole situation could have been avoided, but the poor kid got bored and started acting up. Then someone left the restaurant, leaving the door wide open, and Noah seized the opportunity and ran right out. I thought he was going to run to our car, which was right in front of the door, but he turned and ran towards the busy street instead! I don't even know how I managed it at 8 months pregnant and this humongous, but I bolted after him and after several seconds of pure horror for me and sheer joy for him, I grabbed hold of his arm and we both fell to the sidewalk before he reached the street.

I was relieved, livid, frustrated and horrified. We went back in, got our food, and when we were both buckled into the car I burst into tears. Pain had started to explode in my abs, groin and thighs, but the baby seemed to be happily kicking in there, so I wasn't worried about him. The rest of my evening was spent angry, and with me lying around with strategically placed ice packs all over me after Noah was down for the night. The next morning I could barely walk, I could hobble-waddle, and only after Brendan physically lifted me out of the bed.

All is now normal, and I know that the safest course of action to take with my incredibly fast son is to wrestle him into a stroller everywhere we go from now on. We both got lucky that nothing tragic happened to either of us. Here's hoping Baby #2 is a bit mellower. Gah.

Happy weekend, everybody!