It has been one of those days. One of those "shake my fist at the sky, throw furniture out the window, bang my head against the wall, baby is asleep only when being held and in motion and has somehow managed to throw up more milk than she has drank" days. So, instead of grumbling about the trials of motherhood, I am going to tell the tale of a BALL.
A ball we have named, "Serenity."
Serenity grew up at a department store. There was nothing magical about her youth. She always assumed she would be bought by a health conscious vegan person between the ages of 18 and 50 who would use her at the most once a day, and then give her all her holidays and evenings off.
But the god of yoga balls had other plans for her.
When the store opened that fateful day in August, she had a sense of impending doom. She had been pushed to the front of her shelf, so there was no hiding when a very VERY rotund woman (seriously, did she eat balls for breakfast??) came around the corner with a look of frazzled desperation in her eyes. She barely seemed to notice Serenity before tossing her between a box of #5 diapers, a nursing bra, and a jar of Nutella.
For months she sat un-inflated, still wrapped in her plastic shopping bag. Then one day she was fished out from under the couch where she had been accidentally shoved, ripped out of her box, and hauled to the basement where she was filled with air. She was sure that now she would be taken to the magical healthy food person, with her tidy Ikea decorated apartment. Right?
Oh, poor Serenity. Instead she was greeted by a truly terrifying, ear splitting sound. A sound somewhere between a fire engine and a donkey killing a cat. Two people sat on her (one was tiny, but VERY LOUD) and BOUNCED. Oh the indignity. They didn't even pretend to be doing crunches. And then the tiny loud one VOMITED. ALL. OVER. HER.
Soon she realized the screaming noises were getting quieter...and quiter.....and stopping...and the woman was expressing in the warmest way how very VERY much she loved the yoga ball, and Serenity decided it wasn't such a bad life.
Which is how I came to be sitting on a yoga ball named Serenity, bouncing Thing 2 to sleep and typing this with one hand.
I would say that 90% of my day is spent here. She works hard traveling from room to room as needed, is refilled with air weekly, is currently streaked with remnants of urped up milk, and is making it possible for me to bounce Thing 2 and eat/read/check my email. Who needs a desk chair?
(Of course, we haven't told her the tragic tale of her predecessor yet. The Yoga Ball who was stabbed with a pencil through the heart by Thing 1, the very child she had bounced to sleep so many times. Very "Giving Tree".)
Hopefully, Serenity will live a long happy life bouncing Thing 2, ending with a peaceful retirement in the back of my closet. She will certainly of earned it.
A ball we have named, "Serenity."
Serenity grew up at a department store. There was nothing magical about her youth. She always assumed she would be bought by a health conscious vegan person between the ages of 18 and 50 who would use her at the most once a day, and then give her all her holidays and evenings off.
But the god of yoga balls had other plans for her.
When the store opened that fateful day in August, she had a sense of impending doom. She had been pushed to the front of her shelf, so there was no hiding when a very VERY rotund woman (seriously, did she eat balls for breakfast??) came around the corner with a look of frazzled desperation in her eyes. She barely seemed to notice Serenity before tossing her between a box of #5 diapers, a nursing bra, and a jar of Nutella.
For months she sat un-inflated, still wrapped in her plastic shopping bag. Then one day she was fished out from under the couch where she had been accidentally shoved, ripped out of her box, and hauled to the basement where she was filled with air. She was sure that now she would be taken to the magical healthy food person, with her tidy Ikea decorated apartment. Right?
Oh, poor Serenity. Instead she was greeted by a truly terrifying, ear splitting sound. A sound somewhere between a fire engine and a donkey killing a cat. Two people sat on her (one was tiny, but VERY LOUD) and BOUNCED. Oh the indignity. They didn't even pretend to be doing crunches. And then the tiny loud one VOMITED. ALL. OVER. HER.
Soon she realized the screaming noises were getting quieter...and quiter.....and stopping...and the woman was expressing in the warmest way how very VERY much she loved the yoga ball, and Serenity decided it wasn't such a bad life.
Which is how I came to be sitting on a yoga ball named Serenity, bouncing Thing 2 to sleep and typing this with one hand.
I would say that 90% of my day is spent here. She works hard traveling from room to room as needed, is refilled with air weekly, is currently streaked with remnants of urped up milk, and is making it possible for me to bounce Thing 2 and eat/read/check my email. Who needs a desk chair?
(Of course, we haven't told her the tragic tale of her predecessor yet. The Yoga Ball who was stabbed with a pencil through the heart by Thing 1, the very child she had bounced to sleep so many times. Very "Giving Tree".)
Hopefully, Serenity will live a long happy life bouncing Thing 2, ending with a peaceful retirement in the back of my closet. She will certainly of earned it.
2 comments:
I was still laughing about Thing 1 and Thing 2 when I started reading this post and then I laughed some more. My yoga ball has a similar life, but I haven't taken the time to name her. Does Thing 2 have reflux? Naked Girl had it for 7 months. Puke-o-rama drama every day and lots of tears (on her part AND mine). Glad Serenity is helping!
Naked Mommy
www.nakedmommydiaries.com
Ugh, reflux is the worst isn't it? Thing 1 had it for the first 6 months too, lots of screaming and amazing amounts of laundry. Thing 2 doesn't seem to be in pain, but stlll manages to puke on at least 4 outfits a day. Ah, the fabulous vomit filled lives of mothers and yoga balls!
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