Tag Archives: image is everything

Five for Friday

It’s barely still Friday, so let’s get to it. I wish I had more exciting tidbits to share, but life is baby-centric and therefore, so is this weekly wrap-up.

1. These sweatpants.

sweatpants

The last month of my pregnancy, almost nothing I wore was comfortable, not even my maternity pants. Clayton and I made a trip to Sam’s to stock up on bulk quantities of essentials pre-baby and these were a total impulse buy. I’d actually talked myself out of getting them, but at one point I was waiting for Clayton and Addison to finish their wild goose chase for frozen lasagna, and I decided to give them a shot. I went back over to the clothes and picked up both large and medium sizes for before and after baby. I have worn them almost every single day since then. This could be way off base, but I think they’re totally cute to wear out in public and have worn them to the park and out on our walks. I am debating picking up more colors.

2. We are deep in fervent prayer that this works and 5 a.m. wake ups will be a distant memory soon.

photo 2 (2)

3. My play dough talents continue to improve…

photo 5

leaving someone’s mind totally blown…

photo 2

while someone else remains unimpressed.

photo 4

4. I straightened my hair for the first time in…two months? Six months? This decade? Who even knows at this point. So, selfie obvi. Addison offered me the greatest compliment by saying I looked like Pocahontas. Minus the fondness for fringe and unfortunate affinity for forbidden love.

photo 3 (2)

5. Took the Tula out for a short test drive! Baby heads are what life’s all about, amirite?

tula

What life’s not all about is baby throw up all over your sheets at 3 a.m.

As for this weekend…Go Bolts!

Thoughts While Waiting Pantsless

We’re knee deep in newbornness over here, so it’s a good time to reflect on one part of pregnancy that I’m happy to have behind me: half naked waiting.

I arrived at my 39-week appointment about 20 minutes early. I was surprised how quickly they called me back, but apparently the nurse practitioner was not ready for me. The nurse took my pee and my vitals before telling me to strip down. I waited, partially undressed, for at least 25 minutes in the exam room. Here were some of the groundbreaking thoughts I had.

Exactly how many people have been pantsless in this spot?

If I bend down to get my water/phone/that gossip mag, will the doctor come in right at that time?

Why do I feel so hot even though I’m half naked? Am I sweating?

I should go ask how much longer. Oh wait, the pants thing.

OMG I have to pee. Again.

I wonder which of those long, pointy devices I’ll have the pleasure of experiencing today.

My uterus is a billion times bigger than that plastic model right now.

I am starving.

Why would they put a mirror there?

My feet are not getting enough blood hanging off the table like this. They are completely white.
I need a pedicure. And a spray tan.

Those nurses probably shouldn’t be gossiping this close to my room. I wonder who they’re talking about. I bet it’s that woman with the patterned tights. There is no way she should be that skinny with a baby that tiny.

No for real, SO HUNGRY.

Tale as old as time, tune as old as song…

Why can’t I stop looking at that horrible mirror?

We have a lot of doctor appointments coming our way in the next year, so any tips you have to pass the time are welcome. The more I think about it, strolling to the bathroom in the paper cloth probably would have been the best way to get a doctor in that exam room ASAP.

Potty Party

Even though I wanted Addison potty trained months and months ago, she wasn’t cooperative with our early efforts. Knowing her personality, determinedly independent plus strong-willed, I decided to wait until she seemed ready and not stress about it. And then I got pregnant. The window of riding it out became smaller: I firmly did not want two kids in diapers.

We planned a “naked weekend,” which sounds highly more scandalous than it is. I didn’t do a ton of research, so my plan was simply to keep her out of a diaper for three days. She didn’t necessarily have to be totally pantsless, but if she was wearing clothes at the house, she only had underwear underneath.

Great plan in theory. In reality, we were all fantastically stir crazy by Saturday afternoon. And the little stinker waited until the two times we left the house to go in a pull-up. (As committed as we were, cleaning up an accident in the car was not even considered, I don’t care how far back those pull-ups set us.) She seriously waited for hours and then went within minutes of having the pull-up on. Strong-willed, much?

She ended up having two accidents in the house and one at the park – we had to get out! – that weekend. She hated it. After those, it was game on for her. It took about two weeks for her to be nearly perfect peeing on the potty. Soon after she got the hang of using the toddler potty, she wanted to use the “big potty,” so I bought her a princess seat for the top of the regular toilet. Because princesses make everything better. Can I tell you the quote on the potty seat? “Glamour begins with confidence.” I am so close to taking a Sharpie to that thing and changing it to “Book smarts are the ultimate goal.” or “You can’t wash your hands or read too much.” This princess culture is too much for me sometimes.

The “system” we’re using somehow morphed into a complicated algorithm of rules and rewards. I printed charts and hung them outside the bathroom with a sticker book.

potty chart stickers

At the beginning, Addison would get to put a sticker on the chart and get a treat every time she used the potty. Because I was desperate to have this milestone behind us, I also offered a small prize when she finished a row and a great big awesome prize when she finished a whole sheet. It was way too much, and of course she remembered everything I’d promised and made us hoist her up for a sticker and drug us to the treat jar after every pit stop.

potty chart2potty prizes

Also ridiculous were the treats. We had tons of leftover candy from Christmas stockings, so instead of one M&M or one jellybean, homegirl got a full size York Peppermint Patty or a fun size candy bar. There was no messing around. And she learned so quickly that she was having five of those things before lunch.

The small prizes mostly came from the Dollar Store or repurposed Christmas presents from other people. Lots of stickers, some little books, temporary tattoos, that sort of thing. The favorites have been a set of “Frozen” rings and “Frozen” headbands.

IMG_7438Once she finished the first chart, Clayton and I took her to Target and offered her three different presents to choose from. We came home with…surprise, surprise:

elsa doll

Since then, the rules have changed a few times and she’s been surprisingly flexible about it. First, I casually stopped giving her the small prizes. Then, if she didn’t mention it, I bypassed the stickers because it became such a chore to lift her up that much. Now, the stickers and treats are reserved for non-pee scenarios only. This helps buy us a lot of time in between full charts. Otherwise we’d have gone through about four sheets already.

In a month or so, she is about 95% potty trained. She still wears pull-ups, but I think we’ll get rid of those during the day soon. I have been quite impressed with how well and, I don’t even want to say, easy the whole process has been. I mean, there have certainly been messes that I’d like to block from memory and potty training out in public is a whole other nightmare, but overall it seems like we waited until Addison was good and ready. And if she’s like her mama, she’d do just about anything for a constant stream of chocolate throughout the day.

Finally, there’s one item on our Before Baby checklist that’s actually complete!

How to Freak Out Your Valentine with Love

As much as I’d like to be too cool for school and totes nonchalant about Valentine’s Day, I’m not. Not even a little. I like holidays. I like excuses to veer from the norm, eat excessive amounts of junk and buy things that would otherwise be deemed unnecessary, e.g. polka dot ribbon. I am not the girl who expects a dozen roses (roses = no thank you) and a $200 steak dinner, but I do want a little pomp and circumstance. I love love, and it’s fun to think of new ways to celebrate it.

This year was Addison’s first year in preschool, so she I got to make valentines for her class. Hippie alert: I didn’t want to use candy. With Addie potty training–and rather successfully might I add–her life has been all manner of hand sanitizer and chocolate treats. The girl pees five times before 11 a.m.; she is her mother’s daughter.

I hopped over to the Dollar Store under vast amounts of pressure from my frugal hubs to keep things within reason. (“They are only two years old!”) I present to you sixteen adorable, “healthy” valentines that I didn’t even hijack from Pinterest.

school vday supplies

IMG_7456

IMG_7455

IMG_7458

IMG_7459

school valentine

school valentines bunchI did forget/ultimately decide to forego her teachers and still feel bad about that. (Their Christmas gifts were on point, don’t worry.) They may have a sweet Presidents’ Day gift heading their way if I can come up with an equally adorable Abe Lincoln craft.

I guess my mom blogger status is now official. Womp womp.

Valentine’s morning began with heart-shaped perfection. Doughnuts and pregnancy take the place of pizza and beer for nine months over here, and someone better hide those bad boys until after my glucose test on Monday. There was already one, uh, missing before I took this picture.

doughnuts2We have ambitious, likely-to-end-our-marriage plans for the new nursery, so we went on a research mission to Home Depot. Clayton still has some semblance of trust in our toddler’s capacity to listen to direction and obey commands from a distance, so he didn’t secure her in a cart. Do I need to spell out how enjoyable that trip was between the rows of loose lumber, wood cutting devices and swinging model door displays?

To reward both of us for not throwing tantrums at the tile displays, we stopped at a park to let that energy out. Ladies and gentlemen, my Valentine:

C slide C slide2

C slide3

C slide4

C A slideThey are the cutest.

I had to kick Clayton out for a couple of hours of Super Secret Vday Prepping, so he took A to my parents’ house. While he was gone, my little valentine elves, my brother and dad, got to redecorating the backyard.

Idiotically, I assumed my eagle eye hubs might not notice an open side garage door (with the extension cord trailing out of it) or a big gaping hole where our futon once sat. He did. And he was noticeably freaked out by the whole situation. In retrospect, watching “Gone Girl” the night before trying to pull off an undercover house heist while he was gone wasn’t the best idea for instilling confidence in one’s wife.

Once I let him in on the plan, it eased his little fretting mind. Mostly. He didn’t fully relax until the futon was back in its place on Sunday night.

After Clayton whipped up a delicious steak and shrimp combo, we took ourselves to the movies. In pajamas. With hot chocolate, popcorn and, duh, another doughnut.

movie night2I don’t want to brag is not something you’ll be hearing from me. I absolutely do want to brag about this one. It was the perfect mix of romantic and special—definitely out of the norm–but still comfortable. I was wearing a hoodie for goodness sake. Everything worked out with the technology, which was a major victory by itself. No one spilled hot chocolate on the rented projector, Maya didn’t start a yard fire with the candles and no one’s toes went numb in the chilly temps.

I hope you had someone or something that made you feel loved and celebrated this weekend. Baked goods totally count.

Turkey Gobble 5k

After the half marathon from hell, I registered for a Thanksgiving 5k for me and Clayton. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to hit my sub 30:00 goal, but after the disaster of St. Augustine, I tried to keep expectations to a minimum. Temperatures dipped Wednesday night and I figured there was no hope of hitting my goal pace while freezing. I told Clayton when we went to bed Wednesday that sleeping in was sounding better and better; I decided I would be a game time decision when my alarm buzzed at 5:30 a.m. Thanksgiving morning.

gobble 5k

Without much struggle getting out of bed, I figured I could at least keep Clayton company for the ride and burn a few calories before feasting.

We missed approximately 17 turns to find the right parking lot. We pinned bibs, shed our extra layers and put on Chapstick in the car, knowing we were cutting it very close. Clayton grabbed a spot along the street and, thinking I had time for a port-a-potty stop, I started jogging to the start while he fed the meter. Everyone was lined up and there wasn’t a p-a-p in sight, so I hopped in the middle of the pack and waited for Clayton. The race started, and he still hadn’t shown up. Wife of the Year over here decided to hang back and wait for him…but not without shouting down the sidewalk for him to RUN! Why he was taking his sweet time to begin with, I have no idea.

All's well that ends with a PR

All’s well that ends with a PR

We crossed the start line with only a couple of strollers and dog walkers behind us. Actually pretty standard race procedures for me. But we took off, and I felt good. Really good. I was aggravated by the crowds, so I wanted to get into some space. And you know what’s fun? Passing people. Foreign to me, but I highly support it now.

“Why are you going so fast?” Clayton asked.

Now, I have never, ever, ever been asked that question except when I have to pee and am on the hunt for a public bathroom. So all of a sudden this became THE race. I wanted that PR and I decided I’d ride that “so fast” pace as long as I could, expecting to peter out around mile 2. Maybe if I banked enough time, I could still have a slow last mile and come in under 30 minutes.

Except I didn’t peter out. And I even had a little kick at the end when I heard a group of girls point out a sign about 0.1 mile before the finish, saying they were going to sprint when they got to it. I had not been passed up to this point because I was like the last person to start (fail proof strategy to avoid being passed). Frankly, I didn’t want to get passed at that point. So I started my sprint a tad before the sign.

Maybe I crossed the finish line and had to cool down a ways from the crowd so no one would notice the, uh, sweat dripping from my tear glands.

I know it was a silly, stinkin’ not chip timed 5k. But it was a big moment for this novice runner. A runner who desperately needed a good race to help put a terrible one to rest. A never-imagined finishing time to remember that goals don’t just loom over our heads to make us feel disappointed and incapable but help us push ourselves to be and to do more.

And to leave me wondering what else may be possible from this rickety, nearing 30 body.

I was not even trying to be fun or cutesy with those socks. They were the only option to cover all the exposed skin below my capris.

I was not even trying to be fun or cutesy with those socks. They were the only option to cover all the exposed skin below my capris.

26:13. A new 5k PR by over four freaking minutes! (Ignore that the race was 0.05 mile short.)

garmin 5k

Then I came home to some sweet snuggles that were possibly more satisfying than a PR. Or a close second at least. A snug

I hope you also had a Thanksgiving full of simple surprises that made you sweat a little out of your eyes.

If I am plugging away next to you at Barnes & Noble, don’t do these things:

1. Talk loudly to yourself. I always feel like it’s rude to not respond to you, especially when you speak in rhetorical questions–Where did I put that dictionary? Can you believe some people?–but you’re clearly having that conversation with no one in particular.

2. Breathe like you are snoring. I am tempted to jostle you awake, but it turns out you’re just way too zoned into that video game on your phone to notice everyone thought you were experiencing severe sleep apnea.

3. Make a weird phone call, forcing me to eavesdrop every single syllable. Anything medical applies here.

4. Dress cuter than me. I’ll be in sweats. Plan accordingly. Yeah, white skinny jeans and summer scarf, I’m looking at you.

5. Stare at me. I’ll take care of the staring around here, thankyouverymuch.

6. Be a high school couple. It takes every ounce of self control for me to not go buy you Bibles, condoms and Invisalign.

7. Play Gloria Estefan on the loudspeakers. Just…no. No, no, no, no, no.

8. Read something with an awesome cover. I just want to creepily make my way behind you to read a paragraph or two.

9. Read something I’ve been wanting to read. See #8.

10. Bring your child. I’ll feel guilty for ever leaving mine and get lost watching your 2-year old play with the trains. Major stranger danger alarm.

 

 

An Evening with Al & Bill

Hey party people! Talking to myself there because the hubs and I lived it up until a rockin’ 11 p.m. last night. We were out and about for the nuptials of my cousin-by-marriage, Ryan, and his gorgeous bride, Lisa. (My aunt married Ryan’s dad, are you following?)

The ceremony was at 4:30, which in my world meant I needed to start getting public-acceptable around 11 a.m. when Addison was napping. Kids require you to plan your entire day’s productivity during two hour-long stretches while they are snoozing. Good luck trying to accomplish anything while they are coherent, especially wielding a flat iron.

Believe it or not, strong opinions or not, this was the very first time we left Addison with an actual “sitter” not related to us for an evening out. It’s just been way too convenient having family watch her because that costs us $0. Luckily this sitting superstar was available last minute when our original plans fell through, and she’s watched Addie a couple of times while I worked during the day. It definitely wasn’t $0, but we felt totally comfortable and I only sent one check-in text. Full disclosure: both my and Clayton’s phones were on their last leg of battery life all night, so that limited our obsessive, paranoid behavior.

It did not limit my brother’s photo bombing.

murphy wedding bomb

We all started to get a little loopy from hunger. Everything was beautiful, but we left for the ceremony around 3:30 and didn’t eat dinner until 8. I’m in training, guys. I need those carbs to fully commit to blogging instead of doing my long runs. Which is why I raided the chocolate bar once and sent my husband back to raid it a second time for me. Rolo’s make me a happier person. Just ask Clayton.

Debating if the centerpieces were edible.

Debating if the centerpieces were edible.

While we waited for the newlyweds, we sat back and let our tablemates, Al and Bill, entertain us. They took their jobs seriously. Al and Bill were friends of Ryan’s dad, and oh my gosh I wish my phone had more battery so I could have just recorded them and posted it here. Bill had never met Pedro and Brittany, the other couple rounding out our table, but unfortunately for Pedro, Bill has also never met the concept of personal space. I think his arm stayed permanently on the back of poor Pedro’s chair as he shared all of his reception commentary. And there was A LOT of reception commentary.

Bill lamented about not having the love of a good woman. Al comforted him by saying that he did have that kind of love…with his cat. And suggested Bill’s woes could be cured if he simply got a dog. They were quite a little peanut gallery during the toasts and Al had to physically muzzle Bill at one point. Let’s be honest–we all had an Al and Bill on our wedding guest lists. I’m just thankful I got to share a table and some uncomfortable giggles with this couple’s.

I was fairly certain this would be a rare non-dancing wedding for the Noa’s. But then the lights went low, Bublé turned to Usher, and this lady’s elbows started flailing.

Both of these dresses came from her closet.

Photo and dress credit: Allison.

Before I knew it, my butt was out of my chair and my fist was pumping furiously. Our husbands were slow dancing with their iPhones back at the table and couldn’t be interrupted for the likes of the two hotties gyrating spasmodically in their corner of the dance floor. Chumps.

nat clayton murphy wedding

We hung around long enough for cake, which I feel the need to mention was delicious despite my worry that it was fondant-heavy. As someone who has stressed about the look/taste bud appeal of this monumentally important piece of wedding history, it just feels right to say that I enjoyed every bite. Plus another handful of Rolo’s.

When my mother started gettin’ low, that was our cue to wrap it up.

family murphy wedding

The rest of the weekend will hopefully be spent pounding out 5 deliriously hot and slow miles, upgrading my phone and praying last night’s eyeliner hangs on until church Sunday.

Moderate Effort, Maximum Embarrassment

This morning Clayton and I woke up nice and early for a 5k at our local zoo. I “accidentally” waited until last night to inform him it was a 7:30 a.m. start, not 8 a.m. Oopsies, we already paid! My bad, Dollface.

Unreasonably, I decided to shoot for a PR/check off an item on my Under 30 wish list, despite a serious lapse in training. Meaning I did not train. I know better than to assume I’ll push myself to a PR effort, especially going Garmin-less; I absolutely will not. So my secret weapon in this run was Clayton’s snobby athletic superiority and his claim that I can “definitely” go faster if I try harder. I’m still not quite as convinced as he is, but if he’s next to me or, better yet, a few steps ahead, at least I’ll definitely move quicker than normal just to shut him up.

The race probably started earlier to beat the heat and humidity. In theory, anyway. To actually beat the humidity it would have to start in Rhode Island. The race started about 10 minutes late. Not the way to the heart of Floridians already drenched in sweat walking from their cars to the start line. Even that little window allowed the humidity to climb from miserable to haha why are you idiots outside in running clothes.

My sister in law was on Addie duty, and the four of us had just moseyed on down near the start, fake stretching and ignoring that feeling of having to pee a sixth time, when all of a sudden the big crowd of people surged forward. I didn’t hear an announcement or gun. Just a rush of hot air whooshing by and a sudden moment of panic that the world was ending because we missed the start! Yeah, the world wasn’t ending. We just walked like four steps and got in the middle of the pack. Sometimes I’m a stickler for rules.

The course was pretty narrow for the number of runners, and I missed most of the view of the Hillsborough River dodging people in front of me. Running through the zoo may have been cool for people without annual passes that don’t go once a week, but Mama has seen that same monkey 15 times and would love for you to not stop abruptly to look at it. Again, very narrow with LOTS of zigzagging.

I was struggling at the end. It was muggy and we were running through a boring parking lot. Clayton somehow talked me into booking it the last 0.1 mile. Bad. Idea. I ran through the finish (picking off Miss “pink visor” that Clayton kept pointing out as our target, might I add), slowed for about 1/8 of a second in an attempt to have my shoe timing chip cut off, and realized things were about to get real up in that zoo. And also up in my throat. I jerked my foot away from the kind and understanding race worker and jello-walked to a cluster of bushes right next to the finish line. I then proceeded to complete about four cycles of dry heaving/pacing back and forth behind a stranger’s car. I may never reach that level of attractiveness ever again.

I heard the race worker tell Clayton two more times that he “needed” my race chip. Dude, you NEED me to not puke on your crisp, orange, zoo-issued polo. I assure you that is your most pressing need right now. It was both mortifying (it’s not like I busted out 6 minute miles…talking to you, GI system) and gratifying to experience that running rite of passage. Would I have preferred to experience it alone, hunched over foliage in my own yard? Sure, but where’s the fun/blog entry in that?

You see where I’m going with this, yes? Leading with all the excuses so that the big let down at the end seems expected and justified.

Oh, and I have exercise-induced asthma.

And I didn’t properly warm up.

While I did technically PR (as a Noa; who knows what those college 5k times were, before I discovered brown ales and hosted another human in my loins), I didn’t hit my goal time. By 25 seconds. That doesn’t sting at all. I made a fake-puking, chip-stealing loon out of myself to miss my goal by 25 seconds.

I’m still pumped to have broken a 10 minute/mile pace without really running beforehand. Certainly not impressing anyone, but it just sounds so much faster to me for some reason. And when scrolling through the results, I’ll be honest: it was thrilling to see my name before the pace number jumped to double digits. I hate talking about times because I know I’m slow, but dang it, I’m not the slowest!

Once I could see and stand straight, I turned over my apparently invaluable timing chip and waited as my husband grabbed every free item at the post-race party. Granola bars for toddlers even though we don’t have a toddler? You bet! Tiny packets of strange spreadable sunflower butter? Pack it up! Gargantuan moldy oranges that have no place to be stored in our fully loaded stroller? Two, please!

We met up with my sister in law and Addison for some necessary photo ops with livestock and an abbreviated tour of the zoo, mainly just to see the baby elephants. I wasn’t crying when they locked trunks in sweet baby elephant love, they kicked up dust in the air, I swear.

Just when it couldn't get any grosser after that run.

Just when it couldn’t get any grosser after that run.

zoo 5k fam

The Claytonism, Round 2

Remember when I celebrated Clayton’s birthday with a collection of his, um, special remarks that had a way of sticking into my brain like a blow dart?

There’s more! Behold, round two of Claytonisms. This bunch is less violence-inducing and more endearing(at least to me, and I run this operation).

“Addison’s hair looks different. Did your mom put highlights in it?”

“Birds are weird. They have, like, no brain.” Pause, then a haughty, “Dumb birds.”
I don’t know what the birds ever did to him.

Me: “Leah and I were at the top of the class, so we got to go to Pizza Hut with our teacher as a reward.”
Him: “Is that the teacher you ended up dating?”
Me: “I was in fourth grade, Clayton.”
(But seriously, remind me to tell you the story of when I dated my teacher.)

While walking through the grocery store, out of the blue, he asks me, “Do you feel like your hair has been less frizzy and more manageable?”
After overcoming utter confusion and just before I backhanded him for implying my hair might look anything less than Kate Middleton perfect, I remembered the bottle of shampoo I’d bought two weeks earlier. He’d been waiting for that one a long time.  
shampoo

So that’s a little snapshot of the conversational roulette I play daily with my hubs. To his credit, he usually leaves me laughing, not crying.

DSCN3217

Usually.

Wildlife

For Addison’s birthday, Clayton and I bought passes to the zoo. Addison gets in free. Happy birthday, A. Spared no expense.

Addison and I have already been enough times for the passes to pay for themselves, and on our zoo dates I’ve noticed a few common species.

Tourists
Hailing from the native habitats of Europe or Canada or Michigan, where the sun is a mystical phantom only read about in books, they are easily identifiable by their once pasty white skin that has turned a cracking lobster red in the Florida sun. Sometimes you will pick up the scent of burning flesh if you stand close enough. Their hair sticks to the sides of their faces and foreheads in sweaty, matted streaks. But they have a fierce determination behind their eyes, seen in between the blinking away of dripping perspiration. Clutching their maps, they are on a mission to hunt down the baby elephant pen if it kills them. Which, in fact, it might, as heat stroke is a very real danger to this population. Direct to the air conditioning as needed.

Grandparent Babysitters
Spotted without much effort as they are slow-moving, often immobile fixtures near any attraction that promises to hold the attention of the wild banshees for which they are caring. You will find them close to the carousel, roller coaster, ice cream stand or splash park. Approach cautiously; they are most likely napping and will startle easily.

The Adolescent Couple
On a desperate search for a hidden spot to canoodle, this cost-conscious breed (or their parents) opted for zoo passes because they were about $50 cheaper than Busch Gardens passes. Immediately identifiable due to the drastic age gap between them and the other zoo populace (toddlers and adults over 30) and the unenthused scowl of regret smeared over their faces. Becoming cagey upon the realization that their caretakers will not be arriving for another three hours, these are the most likely culprits for throwing water bottles into the orangutan enclosure and popping the tires on the baby train ride. Best handled with total avoidance or a disapproving single eyebrow raise.

The Parent of Infant
These dazed-looking specimens have ambitiously attempted to abandon their herd and safe lair for a solo trip with their youngling. You can hear their shrill cries throughout the park as they realize the Starbucks kiosk is closed for the summer. Never known to pack lightly in the wild, the usually female parent can be seen carrying or dragging her child (who refuses to ride in their high end carrying apparatus) with a noticeable disparity in gait, favoring the 40-pound diaper bag containing the essentials for a week at the zoo, a three-day electrical outage and a zombie apocalypse. Pass quickly as aforementioned carrying apparatus, while stylish, may have a fickle braking mechanism or parental unit may be too distracted to engage the brakes, resulting in an unimpeded tumble down the path adjacent to the red lion tamarinds.

That runaway stroller may or may not have belonged to a certain Parent of Infant who was busy trying to film her one-year-old’s adorable monkey impersonation and could not be bothered with details like a destructive projectile Chicco.