Stroller Days

As the full-time mother of a toddler, much of my day is spent in survival mode.  “I can’t wait until my daughter has more self-control,” I thought to myself recently as I pushed the stroller the five blocks to our destination.  “I just need to get through this.”  I was thinking this because Leilani had once again refused to go into the stroller, and it was only after a hard struggle (her face red and back arched like an Olympic gymnast poised to take gold) that I had won the day, and Leilani had finally agreed to be in the stroller.  At that moment, a woman who was crossing the street in front of me said, “I was just admiring your stroller.  I miss those stroller days.  I’m on my way to get my daughter.  She’s a teenager now, and I have to figure out how to get her to do her homework.”  That mom was probably thinking the same thing I was in that moment: “I just need to survive this challenging moment in my child’s life.  I just need to get through this.”

So much of the time as a parent I feel like I’m Tarzan flailing through the jungle of motherhood, looking for the next vine to grab.  I usually miss and fall on my ass.  But I hope I don’t miss what’s really important.  Years from now, when I think back to stroller days, I may remember the meltdowns, but I’ll also think of the two of us together, barreling towards our next adventure.  The stroller gave Leilani a front row seat to the greatest show of all, life unfolding in front of her.  I know I’ll miss these stroller days.