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To That Fearless Mom With the Jogging Stroller
As I cruise by, I can’t help but notice her ponytail swaying with each determined step. Her hand steadies the jogging stroller as she pushes through the uphill struggle, hauling not just her own weight but also a fussy baby who seems to weigh a ton. Wrapped in a cozy blanket, the toddler clutches a sippy cup that is sure to make its way to the ground at least fifteen times during this adventure. The look on her face—a mix of determination and fatigue—speaks volumes about the effort it took to carve out even 30 minutes to prioritize her well-being.
I see her because I was once in those shoes, many moons ago. Back when my little ones were tiny, I felt like I was losing my sanity amidst endless laundry, nap times, and toddler tantrums. As the stay-at-home parent, I bore the brunt of daily parenting duties. My husband would help out when he could, but most evenings, I would collapse onto the couch, utterly drained, only to be nudged awake when it was time for bed. I’d catch a few hours of sleep and then brace myself for the same exhausting cycle the next day.
There was never a moment for self-care, no time for yoga classes to recharge, and chasing after a toddler did little to tone my mom bod, complete with C-section scars. Although I was in my late 20s, I felt ancient and worn out. Climbing stairs left me panting, and playing at the park was often a struggle.
But hey, I signed up for this—right? Wrong, said a friend who insisted I join her for a run that sultry summer evening. I was skeptical, but her promise of a post-run glass of wine lured me in.
That first run was a disaster; I was huffing and puffing while my friend, in much better shape, breezed ahead. When we finished, she beamed at me, flushed with adrenaline, and exclaimed, “Wasn’t that amazing?” I rolled my eyes, limping home to find my husband had taken care of bedtime in my absence. Maybe there was something to this running thing after all.
Throughout that summer, I made a conscious effort to reclaim my time. I morphed into that mom with the ponytail, pushing a stroller, snacks, sippy cups, and energy gels in tow. I became the mom who navigated tantrums, lost toys, and the occasional sippy cup on the side of the road. I stood at busy intersections, wondering why drivers couldn’t be more considerate of a mother trying to run with a stroller. I cursed the steep hills while my toddler screamed for home, yet I learned that taking time for myself wouldn’t lead to chaos.
Now, as I pass the mom on the roadside, clad in vibrant running gear and a cap, I want her to know I see her struggle. I see her wrestling with a squirming toddler, trying to get him dressed while he insists on watching cartoons. I see her grappling with that first mile, where the stroller feels like it’s full of bricks, and I can sense her temptation to just head home and relax on the couch instead.
I feel the familiar grip of the stroller handle as she navigates bumps and potholes, and I remember how a downhill stretch can feel like a mini-victory. Most importantly, I see the badassery radiating from her, and I smile as I drive past.
When I glance in the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of the satisfaction on her face—it’s the unmistakable look of a woman who knows she’s crushing it, because she truly is. If you’re intrigued by the journey of parenthood, consider checking out some resources at Kindbody for pregnancy and home insemination tips, and for more advice on self-insemination, visit Make a Mom.
In summary, this piece celebrates the daily grind of being a mom, especially one who finds the time to run, manage a toddler, and take care of herself. It’s a nod to all the mothers out there who push through the struggles, proving that self-care is not just a luxury but a necessity.