Playgrounds Are Not for Wimps

…Or pregnant women. Just to clarify that they’re not the same thing.

Not always, anyway.

Moving on–

It was a fine day in October. DB had the morning off and had helped me take the kiddies to the doctor’s office, and once the shots were over (brave girls!) Ladybug demanded “Go down swiiiiiide!”

Translation: Let’s go to the park.

Given that we had all morning, we said sure. I expected to sit and watch the girls run in wild circles with their father like they usually do, but that day Ladybug decided that this was not an option.

“Mommy, ‘tum on!” she shouted at me, gesturing wildly.

How do you say no to that?

Even if you are 6 months pregnant.

First was the slide.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, and inched down hand over hand.  Ladybug clapped with glee when I thudded to the bottom.  It took me several minutes to unbend completely as my back popped repeatedly.

Then there was a rock wall. Normally I’m pretty good at rock climbing–with a harness, ropes, and climbing shoes, that is. Oh, and minus the extra bottom/front-heavy weight.

I couldn’t make it off the ground on that one. Swollen toes in slippery Halloween toe socks don’t grip any better than shoes bought half a size too large in preparation for swollen feet. Ladybug settled with me shoving her up the rocks to the top before making me move on to the tunnel.

The tunnel was the greatest indignity. Mostly because it seemed like the easiest thing to do in the entire playground. To crawl through it: How hard is that?  Um….almost as hard as putting jelly on the underside of your bread. Without flipping it over.

By the fourth time through the tunnel, I couldn’t catch my breath and my knees popped every time I stood.

I had failed at the playground.  I felt like I had a big, fat red “F” printed on my forehead.

Ladybug watched, crestfallen, as I walked away from the playground equipment.  Thinking quickly, I looked to see if there wasn’t something I could manage.

Then I had a brilliant idea. I would redeem myself on the swing.  And it wouldn’t just be a normal swinging experience–no, no; I was going to introduce my child to Superman swinging. I was going to do this while pregnant and thus earn the Most Epic Momma Ever award.

Without giving myself another moment to do something reasonable like think it through, I called for Ladybug’s attention and dove onto the swing with abandon.

The first moments were fantastic. I was SuperMom and I knew Ladybug and StrawBee would be so impressed. I had no idea pregnant women could do this kind of thing!

Turns out they can’t. .

…It was definitely epic, in that post-it-to-YouTube-because-you-FAIL kind of way.

DB, after ascertaining that I hadn’t broken myself or the baby by being such a… well, I’ll let you insert the appropriate epithet here, kindly suggested that I just stay where I was for a  minute. Since I couldn’t very well move I took him up on the offer. As it turns out, tanbark is really quite comfortable.

But eventually the bliss had to end. We had promised the kids ice cream after the park, and chocolate sauce did in fact sound better than more wood chips in my back. So off we went.


DB holding me up, and tanbark stuck to my backside.

Epic Mommyhood: Achieved.

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About Carolynn the Dyer

If I've learned one thing by having three children in four years, it's that babies are not, in fact, the best birth control. ... Okay, just kidding. I've really learned that laughter is the only way to survive the wilds of parenthood, and life in general. Also, that it is indeed possible to do dishes, parent, and carry on a conversation at the same time. If that sounds like fun, or just impossible, then come join me on my blog--and join me in the jungle.
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