As Long as You'll Sit, I'll Push

Angie Warren

When you asked to take a walk in the stroller I was stumped. Where is, the stroller? It's been years since you, my independent last born, has ridden in your Maclaren.

You cried big, heavy, tears. Finally after some thought, I tossed you in the car and we went in search of a jogging stroller.

I was reminded of the tale of Goldilocks, except for in our story, you were just too big for every one of them. I looked at you in aisle three of the "baby store", and it was my turn for the big, heavy, tears. Your legs, long and lean hung over the sides and you proudly beamed "mom it's just PERFECT for me!" and with a fractured heart I had to come to acknowledge that my baby, is far from the small, bouncy girl whose legs weren't lean and whose hair wasn't long.

You had outgrown the stroller but your heart was still in it. I'll always wonder but never care what others thought of a four and a half year old and her mama weeping in the stroller aisle.

So I did what any good mother would do, we spent $20 on a black and yellow striped number, and I wheeled you around our block in your snug as a bug bumblebee and we felt the wind and we talked of life and we chose to ignore your bent up knees and the way it hugged you a bit too tight.

We chose to remember the walks Nana took us on, and gather some pine cones, and relish the last strolls we'll take like this. As long as you'll keep sitting, I promise to keep on pushing.