A Walk in the Park

Yesterday I had a fussy baby.  I still have a fussy baby.  Turns out she has a little cold, but that's not the point.  Yesterday I didn't know she was coming down with a cold - all I knew is that she Would Not Nap.

When feeding, changing, and walking to and fro no longer work, there is only one solution: a long walk.

Unable to wait for the DB to come home and take the Spawn for her long walk, it was going to be up to me.

Fine.

I can do this.

I got the baby and pram to the doctor's appointment off the island on Monday and that involved showering, breakfast, a bus ride, a ferry ride, lunch (energy bars, worth their weight in gold I tell you), appointment, another ferry boat and another bus.  I can totally take the baby for a spin around the block wheat fields.

Only I haven't showered in a few days (okay, since Monday) and my hair is now standing up in weird ways that no amount of hair wax will contain.

That's fine, I'll wear a hat.

Can't find my hat.  Any of my hats.  Not even a knit cap.

Okay, a bandana!

Nope, no bandanas to be found.  Nor head scarfs.  What the hell, man?!

Okay, so I remember that when I was out in the garage, frantically helping the DB move cardboard boxes off the floor during the Great Flood of Last Sunday, I spied my dig box (the plastic box that contains all my dig gear) and it was totally getatable (new word, Oxford, take note!).  In there should be hats, bandanas, AND head scarfs.

Baby goes into the pram, protesting wildly, and I run into the garage.  I tear open the box and... okay, I see dig stuff... but not ALL the dig stuff.  That must be in another box.  When did I get an extra dig box?  Oh, wait, 5 months in Qatar.  Qatar needed a totally new dig wardrobe of long pants, loose t-shirts, and some winter gear.  I stored it separately from my dear-god-what-lunatic-digs-in-the-Jordan-Valley-in-June-ME-that's-who wardrobe of short shorts, tight tank-tops, and teeny bikinis.  I'd raided the Qatar box earlier for my post-pregnant tubbiness and replaced the shirts with some clothes that I'll probably never be able to get over my ass ever again... but NO HEAD COVERINGS.

Frantic screams from the garden.  Frantic pawing at the clothing.  Frantic scrabbling from a tower of boxes behind me.

It's the cat, who LEAPS from his perch like a drunk bird of prey, lands on a precarious pile of odds and ends rescued from the Great Flood of Last Sunday, which promptly topples over, and vanishes in a puff of fur and indignation.

I triumphantly raise my fist - I have found a head scarf!  I now need to run out the back door of the garage, around the garage, and open the garage door in the front to see if the cat needs rescuing.  The frantic cries from the garden continue, unabated.  Note to self: cry it out - not gonna work.

I open the garage door and bits and pieces of several baby cribs slither out.  The cat is sitting to one side, calmly cleaning himself.  Nothing to see here.  Move along, move along.  I prop up what I can, mindful that another good rain could result in another Great Flood and partially close the door.  Note to self: tell the DB so he can check the pile later.  (I totally forgot to do this, but the DB noticed it himself.)

Run back to the garden, tie scarf over head.  Note to self: damn girl, it's a good thing you learned to do this on no sleep and in a cloud of mosquitos, way to prepare for life with kids!

Grab the baby pram and start shoving it through the grass towards the road.

Screaming baby.

Screaming baby has sun in her eyes.

Damn it!  Drag the pram back into the yard and run into the house to find the parasol I'd discovered in the Great Flood and had set in the house to dry.  Unable to find the parasol, I grab some clothespins and run back outside to fashion something out of a burp rag.

I'm very pleased with my MacGyver skills.  The Spawn, not so much.  Now she can't see.

Not that she could possibly have been able to see through the tears anyway, but away we go.

Push the pram back to the road and walk about 10 meters before realizing that I have to pee.  Okay, fine, we turn around.  The Spawn is still screaming her head off and the cat is now watching us from the front step.  Obviously, we are the best entertainment in town.

Back in the garden, the baby is just not having it any more.  I'm hot, sweaty, thirsty, and I have to pee.

F*ck this Sh!t

I give up, take the baby inside and check my watch.

Well, at least we are an hour closer to the DB coming home.