When I was a kid, my friend Jenny Mae and I used to skip through our neighbourhood. Why? Just because.
Sometimes you just get so jazzed up with being outdoors, you can't help yourself. It's one of those purely goofy, joyful things you just don't do as an adult. What a shame.
Yesterday afternoon I came close to skipping. I put on a pair of normal-person jeans (hooray!), my winter shell that I haven't been able to wear in months (woo hoo!), and bent over with ease to (shock of shocks!) tie my shoes. I went out for a walk on the most perfect, sunny winter day. Crisp and cold, just enough to put roses on your cheeks.
I felt like I could walk for hours, like with every step I took I might leave the ground. It made me so happy to be outside, to breathe deeply and to know that I'm a mom. Just about felt like skipping.
Then the cellphone rang in my pocket, and before even saying hello I could hear Evan's hungry "Waaaaa!". And my joyful, almost skipping-worthy excursion turned into my first post-natal sprint.