The Morning Stroll

Please, for the Love of God, Hold the Door for the Woman with the Stroller

October 19, 2015

There are few things more awkward than a woman trying to get through a door in public with a stroller. While there are several ways to go about this, you almost always look ridiculous, unless someone holds the door for you.

Pushing a stroller

You can press your back against the door, walking backwards, pulling the stroller out after you. You can push the door with your arm while pushing the stroller out first. But if you have a beverage, all bets are off. You’re going to look like a fool going through that door. If it takes a regular person .7 seconds to get through, it’s going to take you 30 seconds; when you’re lingering in a doorway, that’s a long time. 

Let’s not forget how much worse this is made when you know that people see you. You saw them see you. How could they not have seen you? You are a human woman, with a miniature motorless vehicle attached to the front of you, carrying a tiny human. But they look at you, and then they look away. They’re pretending that you’re not there with your giant inconvenience, just trying to totally screw up their "perfect" childless day, asking them to just acknowledge you for five seconds and hold the damn door.

Don’t get me wrong; a lot of people do help. The majority of the time they do, and they’re super nice about it, and they're happy to see your baby and be all like, “OMG, a cute little baby!” But sometimes they pretend they don’t see you, and out of the side of their eye, they know you’re struggling. And they’re probably thinking, “HA HA. I have won again. Those dumb bitches with their big dumb strollers. All in my way. This is my public.” So there’s that infuriating point to deal with while you are still trying to get out the door.

Finally, they stop pretending and they come over and hold the door. “Do you need me to get the door for you?” they ask.

You know I need you to get the door for me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be doing it. Right now. As you ask that question.

And now you’re at the mercy of this person, this person who saw you an entire lifetime ago, snickering at your struggle, pretending you and your monster cart aren’t there. Now they are your savior. Isn’t that infuriating?

You have to thank this person now. You have to be gracious. You have to puff up their ego, simultaneously making yourself feel weak. "Thanks," you mutter without making eye contact. Ugh.

Literally, you could be a supermodel. Long legs, perfectly blown-out hair. Tan skin. Whitest teeth on god’s green earth. You could be feeling real good about yourself today, holding your sparkling water, your headphones in, just trying to listen to some jams while your perfect baby sleeps below your angelic motherly glow.

But that door grants you no mercy. You try to go through it by yourself and you look just like that kid in middle school, the one running with his backpack on. How embarrassing.

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