There's only so many chocolate mice you can eat before you go insane. Or is it that there's only so many times you can look at the same four walls before you start arguing with yourself? Once the chocolate mice are gone, so is the magic.
Today was officially my three-week postpartum milestone. I am allowed to drive a car.
I assume that means I can also climb stairs and lug around more than 8 to 10 pounds of sweet, pudgy baby flesh.
Of course this momentous occasion would have to take place on a scum-coated, heat slathered day.
But to be out in the world, on my own, for the first time with two kids. I couldn't put it off.
We started out slow. I popped Silas into the sling and we all set out for the park on foot. I was so obsessed with getting out of the house with my KIDS that I forgot to bring the camera. (I'm not even going to stop to wonder how I'm going to take a camera - let alone photographs - with every available hand is now completely engaged.)
It was so hot, though, even Annabel wanted to get into the car and fire up the air conditioning. So we walked back and got the keys. (It only took me seven minutes to figure out how to put the infant car seat into its base. Luckily I had the presence of mind to turn the car on and crank up the AC before trying to tether the kids into their chairs.
Then on the road again. It's weird to get back behind the wheel after a three-week hiatus. I felt smaller in the driver's seat. The clutch felt firmer than I remembered. The car felt enormous.
It seemed silly to drive a mile to the grocery store, only having to reenter the heat once the car had finally cooled down. So I tried to get Annabel to agree to go to a store that was further away from home. All I wanted to do was sit in a cool place and drive. Silas was asleep, perhaps Annabel would take a bit of a nap, too.
But no. She had her heart set on carrots, popsicles and band-aids I said we'd procure at "the big store."
So a mile away we'd go. After I got them out of the car with only minimal peril (a car pulled in right next to us as I was outside the "suicide doors" trying to get Silas back in his sling and trying to keep Annabel from getting out of the car until I was ready. Suffice it to say suicide doors are aptly named.
Inside the store, Annabel was a perfect shopper. She only asked to buy a tiny vegetable platter with dip for some astronomical amount and was perfectly accepting of my firm "NO." We got what we'd gone for and nothing else. Silas, of course, slept through it all.