Trail Runner

(Brace yourself. Here comes an onslaught of videos. You like videos, right? Come on, who doesn't like a video? Lots of them. Of someone else's kid.)

So last week (yes, I'm very behind with the blog, work, etc. It's the story of my life.), Sarah and I took a little hike. I love to hike, but this trip was different. It was a trip spawned by desperation.

You see, Sarah has decided to stop napping. Oh, I knew this day would come. The day when I no longer had a break, time to breathe, a chance to go potty alone. And I've been dreading this day like the nerve at the root of a tooth dreads the kiss of a dental drill.

Turns out, it really isn't as bad as I had imagined. It's worse. Oh, so much worse.

So last week, there was no nap. I was going crazy. I had to get Sarah and myself out of the house. Pronto! Thus, the hike.

(OK. Here come the videos. This might hurt a little bit. Just push. Or breathe. Push and breathe. I don't remember. Do whatever they taught you in that useless child birthing class. Yes. It's going to hurt that much.)

We made our way out to one of the lovely open space preserves in our neighborhood, Windy Hill.

The second that kid of mine set her little foot on the trail, it was as if I'd unleashed Lola. She immediately set out running:



And kept running:



And running, and running, and running...

Until, we found some horse poop:



The poop put an end to the running (for a while), but it spawned a bunch of questions and thoughts:



So, that was one napless afternoon. I haven't filmed the others. No one wants to watch a grown woman sobbing and rocking in the corner. It's unpleasant. Uncomfortable. And not even an epidural can ease the pain of watching that.