So as I mentioned in my February post, there are times when you want to at least mention the not-so-pleasant memories. If only to make the world seem a little less rose colored and a little more real. Nothing bad, just every day life.
So, on this beautiful, sunny afternoon, J takes Cooper to the park while I go for a run with friends. The plan was to meet up at the park so I could grab Cooper and J could finish his workout. So two things went wrong with that plan, I couldn't finish my run and had to half-hobble to the park because I obviously did not give myself enough time to heal AND Cooper has started the run away game.
We finally corralled him (it took 3 of us, but I am maybe only a 1/2 in my non-running state) and off we went towards home. He had a minor melt-down getting out of the stroller, then the full head-on one started when we got inside the door. And it lasted for 55 minutes. How do I know it lasted that long? Well I glanced at the clock when it started at 6:57 and I think I felt every minute pass until 7:52. Or maybe I aged two minutes for every one during that time.
He cried. He kicked his feet. He sobbed. He flung himself on the floor. He cried "Mammma," but didn't want anything to do with me. I put him in his room. He came right back out. It's almost funny as I type this. It wasn't funny then.
It finally ended at 7:52 with some distracting motions from J. He calmly told me he was sorry, and that he wasn't crying anymore. Then he sat down to eat dinner with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and was perfectly happy.
Should I go to bed now to put this day behind us or should I prolong my misery by now watching the TarHeels play in the first round of the *** (I can't even type the initials)? Decisions, decisions.