Some days being cooped up in the house keeps me sane. I don't have to worry about being in the middle of Wal-Mart with an exploding diaper or calming her get-me-out-of-this-car-seat cries. I don't have to share her with gawking strangers and middle-aged women who think her head is too small. She is all mine-- all mine to kiss and cuddle and I am all hers to drool on and coo at.
But the air is stale in here and smells like those tuna cans in the garbage which only slightly mask the smell of the chicken I burned last night. When I stepped outside Thursday in my safety green hat and some jean shorts I felt a little euphoric high from the fresh oxygen. Andrea sported a little pink jacket with a cow on the front which she thought was quite tasty. She actually thinks most things are quite tasty with the exception of her actual teething toys. Go figure.
I worried the bright sun would bother her, or perhaps she'd find the bumpiness of the sidewalk irritating. She surprised me with how much she seemed to love both. I'd stop occasionally and peak at her in the stroller only to find her smiling like a goon.
A very cute little goon.