Today, I decided to take my daughter to the park. She was very cranky and I was feeling very pregnant and tired, so I figured that getting outside would do us both some good. I fed her a snack, packed her into the stroller, and waddled to the playground. When we got there, I let her loose. However, she needed help climbing the playground equipment. Without thinking about how we would get down, I helped her climb higher and higher. I was too tired to say no or to try to force her to turn back.
Suddenly, I looked around and realized that we were at the top of the very highest slide. I couldn’t let her go down it by herself and she was adamant that we were not turning around, so I sat down, plunked her on my lap, and, with a big push, shouted, “Wheeeeeee!”
It was a very short-lived slide ride. Not even a quarter of the way down, we got stuck. Very stuck. I tried to wiggle my way down further, but only succeeded in getting a serious case of slide burn on the back of my thighs. Evelyn began to cry.
So there we were – a very pregnant lady with a bawling toddler on her lap, stuck about six feet up in the air.
I looked around and weighed my options. There was only one. I let go of my daughter, tried to unwedge myself as fast as I could, and jumped six feet to the ground. That’s right. Third trimester and I jumped down six feet.
Unfortunately, I forgot that I was wearing a dress. You really don’t need to know the details, lest I scar you for life in the same way that I traumatized the local neighbourhood. Let’s just say it was a very revealing moment.
Needless to say, I made it to the bottom of the slide just in time to rescue my daughter from falling off and hurting herself.
By this point, she was screaming. With no other choice but to retreat with what dignity I had left, I packed her into the stroller, tried to tune her out, and gingerly waddled home. Just another typical day at the park…