Just Like A Hamster

Last week I had the privilege of watching Noah. I have a car seat in my car to prove it. It does wonders for my dating life.

And after I picked him up one afternoon, his only request to me was "Sarah, I want a diet coke, an ice cream cone and lots of time to play at McDonald's."

Umm, I think that is doable. Besides, I figured I could drink his diet coke since he actually doesn't drink diet coke. And he would be contained as opposed to being uncontained, say like at a park or something where I would actually have to move and walk and skip and look for bugs.

Side note: I have been under the weather lately and the thought of endless outdoor foot races would have required MUCH more energy than I had.

So McDonald's it was.

However, little did I know that I would be asked to take my shoes off and climb through a maze of tunnels, tubes, miniature staircases and claustrophobic slides. Nor did I know that I would crawling on my hands and knees through germ-laden plexiglass that had unknown substances lurking in all the corners and smeared on all the hazy peep holes. Nor did I realize just how small those contraptions were and that they were in no way built for anyone over 5 feet tall or over 100 pounds. And I am, in fact, over both of those measurements.

And don't get me started on what it does to your knees. They will never be the same. Nor will my socks.

All in all, it was worth it, not only because I got to spend the afternoon with Noah, but also because I got to see the look of horror and awe on Noah's face when his aunt squeezed through a series of pipes that I am sure made her resemble some sort of processed meat, like a pepperoni or something. Or a hamster whose girth could use a few more minutes on the treadmill.

That kid owes me. Big time.