ready to ride

This is a public service announcement for anyone who has been at one of several events at our house recently and seen the baby jogger behind the door of our guest room: I am *not* pregnant.

Two friends were brave enough to ask about said jogger and if I was pregnant. In a potentially unrelated observation, another friend asked if I was faking it with my (second) glass of wine on Saturday. No, I am drinking alcohol. And not bearing life at the moment.

I am not sure how many other people saw the babyjogger and have been wondering, so I will just go ahead and tell you: it is not for me.

I suppose it is plausible that I would just go out and buy myself a babyjogger on craigslist, seeing as I cannot resist a bargain and know from experience that the highest-quality 20-inch-rims are not so easily found second-hand. Hopefully some day I will have a baby and the strength to run with him/her, but in the event that I am barren, injured, paralyzed or (more likely) move to a country without paved roads or recreational white runners, I think it best to hold off on that purchase.

I bought the babyjogger [“used” from a woman who had received two (two!?) new babyjoggers] as a gift for my older sister. I haven’t taken any babies for a spin in it, but it appears to be a fine piece of craftsmanship. It’s like a really nice bike — you can just tell from pushing it a little that it wants to go fast.

My older sister is a very fast runner. She is also mom to a very cute baby who just this weekend learned how to stick out his tongue. As it turns out, I know how to stick out my tongue too. But I am not nearly so cute when I do it.

I will give her the babyjogger on the condition that she let me hold her baby for at least one hour. I will be timing it, so no skimping and no one else better try and get their paws on him during my alloted time … lest I have to stick out my tongue at you in dismay.