Why I don’t go out much

January 8, 2010

    There are times where I think to myself, “How long has it been since I’ve been outside the house?” And I feel guilty for not being more active with Bella. Might help burn some of this fat off if I was, but no. Sitting in here watching TV or Facebooking is so much easier. Because the thought of getting the mail or going grocery shopping is a nice thought, until you remember that you have to:

    Time it just right in between feedings, put her in the car seat she detests (struggling to get her little arms under the seatbelts from hell), grab a diaper bag just in case, a purse, lug everything out to the car, snap her in as her head bounces wildly around, get in, realize you forgot your cell phone/keys/credit card/jacket and run in praying that you won’t be the mom on TV that left her kid in the car “for just one minute!” and something awful happened.

    Then back out as she screams all the way down the road, haul her in and out of stores and into grocery carts that don’t fit a car seat, deal with 50 people who say, “How old is she?!” – meaning of course, that you have to stop the cart for them to look which allows her to burst into sobs (which prompts the question, “Oh, is she hungry?”)

    You have to manuever every item you buy around the massive car seat and each bump of milk or a block of cheese causes her to scream as if you personally smacked her in the face with it. She finally falls asleep as you pull into the driveway and you race to get everything put away before she wakes up, which is a losing battle.

    So I stay at home and make Sam do errands, childless. Much easier.

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