the stroller obsession continues

So, we went stroller shopping again yesterday, and the Aria fit fine in my trunk, but I don’t want it anymore. It felt wobbly, flimsy, and I didn’t like the harness design. We were both happy with the BOB though. Decided to register for it in red blue red.

So, I’m back in search mode for the throw-in-the-trunk-and-go stroller, now considering Zoopers and Chiccos. I want lightweight, yet not flimsy, prefer a snack tray, big easy-access basket, easy folding, good padding on seat. I know anything I choose now is a total gamble — the baby/child will have his own preferences.

There’s an aspect of this process that is like Christmas for me. I get to pick what I like. (Oooooh, black-and-aqua! Pretty…) We’ll deal with the right/wrong-ness of this decision when the real being arrives with his own opinions, later.

This weekend was a rough one. While friends have been calling me all week, weeping (literally) over various crises themselves, I had counted myself lucky (don’t count your chickens — and by the way, have I mentioned that I really want to get a couple of backyard chickens?) that I hadn’t melted down. I did suspect that given the high number of calls I’d received, maybe something cosmic was going on.

My meteorite hit on Saturday morning. It started with a strange panic when my husband described a new line of toys he’s excited to buy for the boy, superhero Fisher-Price stuff (and of course we have to get two of everything so the boy can have one new-in-box for when he wants to sell it on e-bay in 20 years).

Funk commenced as I imagined all the money we will so easily spend on the boy and not on me. Poor me.

Then, on our way out, I discover that perhaps a boulder, or a kangaroo, or a teenager fell, bounced, or sat on the hood of my car during the night. My 9-year-old Jetta that was holding up so well, and not looking half-bad. Until now. Sigh.

Just could not de-funk-i-fy all day, and into the next.

And then the drama of stroller shopping: Must do this perfectly, must choose best stroller, must find most efficient ratio of cost-to-features, must get it done now… Not to mention that I’d been completely shutting Scott out of the decision-making process on all things (stroller, glider, furniture, et.al.), which made him quite cranky. And he just wanted me to be done already. The Aria fit. Why struggle?

So we fought. Productively, like a really good nose blow. And then, the funk lifted.

Suddenly, I understood one simple thing. Stroller decision (or insert object of choice) is whatever it is. I personally add unnecessary stress on top by worrying about it. He only wants us to be done with it because the stress of living with me while I stress is what’s not fun.

This might be obvious to you, but for me, it was a revelation.

I get to fiddle with this decision as long as I want, as long as I’m not so freaking miserable about it.