My husband watches our son during the day, but as any parent knows, 5pm-bedtime is “the witching hour.” I have the lucky job of taking our son on a 45-minute drive home most nights of the week, during said witching hour. If he’s not screaming, it’s because he has a bottle in his mouth. If I have to take him out of the car and put him back in to run an errand on the way home, it’s World War III.
|There should be a drive-thru where this guy is handing me a bottle full of milk.*|
The first pump wouldn't take my credit card, which means a trip inside. I looked at Johnny. He was psyched at the idea of getting out of the car seat, of course. We went inside. I paid the cashier while Johnny screamed that I wouldn't let him push all the buttons on the cashier’s keypad. Suddenly, the cashier frowned.
We went back outside. I put Johnny into the bed of the truck, as a man passing by loudly told his wife, "See? She lets her kid ride in the bed!" No I don't, I wanted to shout, but I was busy keeping one eye on the gas pump and one on Johnny.
Putting a willful one year-old into a car seat (or high chair, or saucer) when he doesn't want to is a challenge: they buck and squirm and - of course - scream at the top of their lungs. To any observer it probably looked like I was abusing my child as I tried to contort his body into the constraints of the safety buckles.
In conclusion, I implore you, retailers of the world: It is 2014. For us parents, can you please build drive-thrus everywhere? Then my son would more often look like this:
The Mom of a Willful One Year-Old