So we wake up this morning and discover that Shira has a rotten cold (which would explain why she fell asleep sitting up twice yesterday). Our plan for this morning had been to all head out to Oakville for a bris (he finally arrived!), but a virus seemed a terrible gift idea for an eight-day-old little boy, so we changed the plan. Matt and Alyce would go the bris, while I'd stay home with Shira the Sick. We're adaptable.
In honour of these changed plans, I decided that Shira and I would go for a long walk. Maybe she'd nap in the stroller, and I'd get some exercise while enjoying the beautiful grey morning (I'm officially sick of the sun and the melting heat). I asked Matt to grab the stroller from the car before he left, but he came back in the house, puzzled. And then he told me: "The stroller isn't in the car or in the garage." The stroller isn't in the car or in the garage. I didn't even really understand him, because of course that's where it was. That's were it always was. Always. Then I got mad, thinking that maybe someone stole our stroller. I was ready to start fuming, ready to begin my rant about how dare someone take my beloved double stroller.
And then I realized.
Rewind to yesterday afternoon. I took both girls to the library, on our way to visit my grandparents. I drove to the library, but once I got there I put both girls in the stroller. Alyce doesn't need the stroller anymore, but when it's just me and both girls I usually use the stroller as a way to keep Alyce in one spot while I'm taking out books. After getting what we needed and spending some time playing upstairs in the children's library, we headed back to the car. You might already suspect what happened next. Being three and one, both girls immediately, out of nowhere, started whining for snacks (oh, the horror of thirty minutes without grapes), and all of a sudden I found myself trying to balance buckling them in their seats, getting snacks, making sure that Shira got enough before Alyce inhaled the rest, and putting the books and my bag in the car. They finally both seemed happy and I declared that we were now on our way to the grandparents! I felt accomplished. But it seems that I also forgot to the put the stroller in the car.
I forgot to put the stroller in the car.
My beautiful, comfortable, durable, double-seated Phil and Ted's stroller.
The stroller that cost a lot of money, that we bought when we both had jobs.
Now we both do not have jobs.
This was yesterday afternoon, and now it's in the next morning. I'm pretty sure that someone else is enjoying my stroller right now, but I'm holding out a tiny bit of hope that someone brought it into the library. I've already asked Matt to see if by chance it was still on the sidewalk in front of the library (no such luck). So I'll call the library when it opens in a couple of hours, because maybe, just maybe, it's there. I'm holding on to this tiny bit of hope before I begin sobbing, which I will have to do, if I'm forced to accept that I'm a total moron who left her stroller on the sidewalk and drove away.
Send your best thoughts for my dear stroller. It needs all of us right now. I'll keep you posted.
Update: Our stroller is back home. I repeat, our stroller is back home!