What's really weird is how just one little thing like a stubbed toe leading to a missed run can be that straw that lets the tears come down. I could have really used that run today. Running always reminds me of that macro-happiness on days like today. But just as we were getting ready to head to the park I banged my pinky toe into the corner of the wall. It hurt like any bad stub hurts, but I figured it would go away like they mostly do. Not this time. Beet red. Sore. Swollen. Yet, not broken. So I tried to put my running shoes on anyway--hey, the sun finally came out--but to no avail. The swelling made it very uncomfortable just to have the shoe on let alone run, so no run. I tried to do a yoga dvd instead, but between a poopy diaper and a toddler trying to play with a dish and then getting a hold of the remote I only made it through 35 minutes of the hour program before surrendering to my fate.
I threw in the towel and headed in to the kitchen to make peanut's dinner. I plopped him in the high chair and we started the usual push and pull of our feeding ritual. He's into eating for a few bites and then resistant for a few, usually because he sees geese or birds or the field cat roaming around outside and gets distracted. Finally, mrp arrived home. "How was your day?" he asked. And that's when the crying started.
It was just one of those cries where I couldn't talk and really had no idea why I was crying. The pregnant woman's burden, I guess you could say. I told mrp to take peanut outside to play. I sat there by myself for a few minutes and took a deep breath. I went outside myself and watched mrp and peanut playing out in the sunshine. And then I remembered that two years ago today mrp and I found out we were going to be parents and all those dumb and annoying little things melted away. My toe still hurts though.