It’s winter, and walking outside in the winter when your lungs are inflamed and every breath feels like a long deboning knife sliding under your ribcage is not high on my priority list. Also, a little parenting equation for you: strollers + more than 1cm of snow = hell.
Except that pesky kid of mine needs to get to and from school, five days a week.
I’m lucky. When I came down with a monster infection and things were at their worst, the husband either took her in the mornings himself, or drove us both, on his way to work. That’s huge. Unfortunately, I’m now well enough to take her on my own again. It’s only two blocks. 1700 steps. Too close to complain about.
But I can’t help it.
So I’ve spent this morning thinking up all of the things I’d rather be doing, instead of walking while negotiating the unshovelled sidewalks with a baby in the stroller. These are all completely attainable, right?
Drink my coffee in peace
Sorry. We’re just going to stop there for a minute. Sigh.
Glynis Ratcliffe used to be an opera singer, but after her daughter begged her to stop singing and be quiet for the millionth time, she decided to use her inside voice and write instead. Now, she’s a freelance writer with bylines at The Washington Post, Chatelaine, Lifehacker, and CBC, as well as being a copywriter and ghostwriter for clients in various industries.