I went to pick up the girls from daycare this week (a task that Jamey normally does). Jamey verified I was picking up the girls via email exchange and then went on home. When I got there, Cora was thrilled to see me. I was thrilled to see her. I was less thrilled to see that her car seat had not been left at the school. Thrillingness in a steady decline, Jamey did not answer the phone and daycare did not have any spare car seats. I realized daycare would close by the time I got home and back with said car seat.
Feeling out of choices, I loaded Ruby into her car seat and strapped Cora in front of me on the drivers seat. Petrifying fear that you are going to get in a wreck cannot be sustained for a long of period of time. Once I was driving for a few minutes I started to worry about other things. What if that cop I'm passing notices? What if some other driver sees me and snaps a picture and sends a chain email titled "Bad parents caught in action"?
Cora was less then helpful. She really, really, loved being in the driver's seat. This was expressed in a variety of ways from yelling like a zombie to spitting up on my arm. She also threw her feet up on either side of the steering wheel, squealing in delight.
Determined to keep my low profile, I kept my hands at 10 and 2 (now underneath her feet) and ignored the spit up dripping down my arm. At this point, Cora decided to practice her new trick of drumming on things with the flat of her palm. Unfortunately, she chose the middle of the steering wheel for this practice.
So, if you saw an Acura MDX with a redhead at the seat and a baby in her lap steering with its feet furiously honking its horn over and over to draw the utmost attention to itself...it was not me. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
