Arms of steel

I really don't understand why my arms aren't ripped. I carry around 27lbs of child all day. My arms should be as defined as a body builder. Perhaps that is a bit extreme but at the very least, more tone than they currently are.

This morning Max and I took a trip to the Children's Museum downtown Charleston. It was a lot of fun and Max ran around like a mad man playing, climbing and touching everything. When it was time to leave Max was exhausted and wanted to be carried out.

I walked out of the museum and down a block to the parking garage. It was only then that I noticed the "cash only" sign. It somehow hid itself from me when I pulled into the garage. Max rested his head on my shoulder and I adjusted the 2lb diaper bag across my shoulder and set out to find an ATM.

Three blocks later my arms began to burn. I would have brought the stroller but lately Max's new favorite thing is to push the stroller, not ride in it. Not wanting to deal with a tired child and the ultimate battle that would ensue, I chose to leave the stroller in the car.

Six blocks later, I found an ATM. I tried to put Max on the ground so he could stand beside me but he curled his legs up and refused to stand. While holding the 27lb sandbag, I had to rummage through the diaper bag to find my wallet.

Six blocks back to the parking garage and I saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator. Even though it was 51 degrees outside, I was breaking a sweat. By the time I climbed two flights of stairs and walked to the back of the garage, I was ready to strip off clothing.

Mornings like this are a regular occurrence with me. Somehow ATMs are always far away and elevators are always broken. One would think I'd be sporting well defined arms by now. The fact that I'm not might depress me, but when I arrived home and decided to open a new jar of peanut butter, the top popped off like the cap on a milk jug.

My arms may not look like a body builder but they're pretty strong. I can live with that.