Yesterday, G and I went to the zoo. It was glorious. G walked all over the place, pointing out every sign we passed, stopping to observe people, and generally chatting up a storm. He didn't pay much attention to the animals except the meerkats, like usual, but I'm sure that'll come with age.
We were having a grand ol' time until the zoo started to close, therefore making us have to head back to the car. G pitched the biggest fit when we passed the indoor area and he wanted to go in... again.
"Um, G," says I, "the zoo is closing. We can't go in there."
He points and babbles "dededede."
"Come on, this way." I motion in the other direction. "We have to go home."
G crosses his arms and looks petulant.
I make my voice sterner. "G, Mama said no. We have to go home. Come on."
My little almost 20 month old sits down on the path, firmly planting his butt on the ground. I'm just glad he's not mad enough yet to throw himself backward onto the stones while he's at it.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It would all be very cute if I wasn't tired and thirsty and ready to go home. "What is this? Occupy Zoo? Staging a sit-in isn't a valid form of toddler protest." Oh, I crack myself up. I walk over, haul him up by the armpits, and settle his almost 30 pounds onto my hip.
He proceeds to cry for the next minute or so until we get back to the meerkats. "Say bye-bye," I tell him. He waves. All is forgotten, especially once we get back to the car and he has a sippy of water in his hands. He was as tired as I was. I had to haul his butt all the way out of the zoo, and the pains in my uterus are telling me I overdid it.
A few hours later, after I sit on the couch for a bit, I go to stand and I'm rather shocked by the pain in my back and thighs. Oops. Right. I'm pregnant. No more carrying a toddler on my hip for long distances. Next time, mama, bring the stroller.