Everything had gone smoothly and more than smoothly--Baby had tired himself out enough that he finally lay down in the grass and sucked on his fingers while looking at me with his huge blue eyes as if to say "Okay, daddy, I'm done here; can we go?"
(This is, of course, why we take our children to parks--to tire them out with minimal exertion on our own part. I never understood this as a child.)
I administered a puréed vegetable packet without event, and we continued on to the next phase of our Saturday adventure--buying milk. Baby behaved himself quite well in the store, and even graciously accepted the cashier's offer of a sticker.
(I've been trying to coach Baby on being more gracious to his fans--often he just stares at them, snubs them by looking away. He's getting better at politely accepting strangers' admiration.)
Then we got back to the bus stop, and I realized--Baby. Stroller. Two gallons of milk. I only have two hands.
One of my fellow bus-for-waiters at the stop realized my predicament at about the same time, and asked if she could carry something onto the bus for me. It was my turn to be gracious to a kind stranger; I was helped by the fact that I actually couldn't carry everything.
The 209 was a ski bus.
I guess I cut a rather pathetic figure standing in the aisle holding a toddler and two gallons of milk with a stroller at my feet, because two gentlemen got up and offered me their seats. Although I only took one seat, they both remained standing. One of them assured me, "It's okay. I have kids."
I managed to get off the bus holding the stroller, the milk, and Baby, but tapping off was out of the question. Sorry. After we got off the bus, I managed to set down the milk, the stroller, and Baby, but he took off running down the sidewalk before I could get the stroller unfolded. As I caught him, a man pleasantly yelled out his car window,
to which I gave a polite but lame comeback, since I am really bad at comebacks on the fly. I strapped Baby in, stuck the milk in the bottom of the stroller, and proceeded to push the whole mélange up the hill, which was good exercise. Then we got home and I got to coax Baby down the stairs while holding both milk gallons in my other hand, which made my hand want to reach up and strangle me, except that it couldn't because it was still holding the gallons of milk. It made sense at the time.
I may be the busninja, but sometimes even I go in over my head a little. When that happens, it's nice that everyone is nice about it.