Running these days, as a mom, has a lot of meaning for me.
It means I get outside. Fresh air means smells like trees and cars and water and sunshine, instead of old poopy diapers.
It means I go places. And buy things. Things I need. Like groceries. And toilet paper. And lots and lots of coffee.
Mastered the art of packing out my jogging stroller with purchased groceries, I have. Cereal box won’t fit? Open it up, discard the box and smoosh the bag into a crevice. Two bags of bagels with no place to settle? Pack ‘em around your baby’s head: comfy! Heavy stuff in the bottom, flat stuff in the pockets, lightweights in the extra bag attached with the Mommy Hook to your stroller bar, dangling just barely out of reach of where your knees strike.
Freeze-dried bananas toddler snack? Check! Kid sized camelbak? Check! Minimal diaper bag, spare change of toddler clothes, wood robot toy and other distractions, cheese-stick, lip balm, check check check checkity checkers.
I am a well-oiled chariot of fire.
Well, at least for 2 miles. It starts to fall apart between miles 2 and 3 for the tiny nobleman riding inside. If we cut over to a main road and can see buses on the go, I can usually squeeze a bit more into our run.
Sometimes we find new routes and pick up some KILZ Primer for mommy’s latest project. And then we find our way to the nearest playground.
Tip: Those new, squishy, recycled sneaker turfs are great places for stretching.