Some close friends recently had a second child. Their first, the lovely and rather precocious Clara Jill–yes, named after me –is six and a half, and was somewhat apprehensive about the arrival of competition.
When I went over to their home for the first time after little August came home, Clara was ensconced in her baby brother’s stroller and had pulled several of his blankets over her head. She was making baby noises and didn’t want to come out even for home-made macaroni and cheese, normally her favorite. Her exhausted parents smiled indulgently and whispered that Clara had “regressed” a little bit lately.
Regression or not, I found myself thinking what a rational response Clara was having to this new challenge, and it made me wonder, don’t we all need a stroller sometimes?
On better days, I think my stroller is petting or playing with my dog. On not so good days, my stroller is more likely to be getting cranky or eating too much chocolate.
Do you let yourself have a stroller? If so, when do you let yourself crawl into it? What does it look like, feel like? Does it help you cope with overwhelm? I think the ideal stroller does not come with side effects, or produce a hangover. What about yours?