365 - Day 11

No one tells you that when you become a mother you will get up at the crack of dawn every Sunday, enthusiastically drive to the valley to have your son ride a depressed pony named Oreo while you wave and cheer and then, risking his physical well being, you will happily throw him in a dirty bouncy house to flop around with a handful of germ laden toddlers and hyperactive kindergartners while you take pictures and hope the awkwardly tall kid in the bunch, who has clearly not taken his little blue pill, does not squash your child against the grime covered rubber walls of this children's paradise.