High Risk Commute

Ilan's personality is surfacing. He is expressing his likes and dislikes and there is nothing he hates more than our car.

Here's a story:

I was carrying Ilan to the car when we were approached by an old man with a cane. He wanted to know if the bus was coming. I stepped into the street to check - it wasn't. He then started grumbling about how he'd just have to walk to the hospital and would likely miss his appointment. He was clearly angling for a ride, so I told him to get in.

As soon as I put Ilan in his car seat he started screaming. I tried making conversation with the old man, but it was too hard for us to hear each other. I could tell all the crying was making him tense. We hit a red light two blocks from his destination and he popped open the door. "Here is fine," he said. "Thanks." And he was gone.

Ilan's baby rage was so intense that an old man would rather hobble two blocks and risk missing his appointment than suffer his wailing.

*

I think I've figured it out. Every morning around 9:00 Ilan wants to take a nap. Unfortunately, that's when I have to take Roan to preschool. I bundle up Ilan, carry him out to the car (which I never remember where I've parked), have a few power struggles with Ro, who wants to walk in the opposite direction of where I think the car is, or wants to take a different car to school, or wants me to carry him down the street, or WHATEVER. Somehow, Ilan sleeps through all that. But when I put him in the car he wakes up and screams.

We repeat the ritual at 3PM. Ilan falls asleep about 10 minutes before I have to pack him in the car and pick up Ro.

The car is constantly interrupting his naps. His dreams.

No wonder he hates it.

This week I'd had enough. "Fine!" I said, "you win! No more car!"

I dug our enormous stroller out of the closet, the one we only used twice with Ro, because it is so unabashedly huge. But I needed something sturdy for what I had in mind. From now on we would walk to and from preschool. Ilan would sleep in the stroller. Roan would push him, and when he occasionally crashed him into planters or stoops Ilan wouldn't notice, because he'd be in the stroller equivalent of an army tank. If Roan got tired I would push Ilan and Roan would ride on the skateboard I'd keep stashed in the stroller basket. And me? This plan would have me walking over 4 miles on Roan's preschool days. I'd be back in my pre pregnancy clothes in no time!

Unlike most of my overly elaborate plans, this one actually worked! We left the house at 8:15, because I figured we needed 45 minutes to cover the hilly 1.2 miles. Instead, we got to school early! Roan pushed his little brother the whole way! I was so proud of him. Ilan slept during the entire commute. I was proud of him too! Both my boys had done their jobs.





The next day Ro had his swim lesson in downtown Brooklyn. It's too far to walk so we took the R train. It was Ilan's first time on the train and guess what? He slept through it. Which was the plan. He was bundled in the ergo, snoozing away. And Roan was thrilled to be on the train. At 25th Street he walked all the way up the hill without complaint.

Not every commute goes so well.

Taking public transportation with small children is a high risk choice. It's either going to be wonderful or terrible. There really is no middle ground. In our car I know it's going to be bad, but predictably bad. Ilan will scream, Ro will whine, I will experience low grade stress which will compromise my ability to parallel park.

The upside is that all this will happen in the privacy of our car. Because it's actually worse when my baby is wailing on the bus and I try and comfort nurse him in the ergo (an activity that is only possible in ergo advertisements), and the attempt turns my winter coat into a straight jacket, and I am visibly sweating, and it's the lady sitting next to me's stop so I've got to stand up quickly, get out of the way, balance on a lurching bus without the use of my arms, (which are still trapped in a confusion of jacket, sweater, and ergo), all while fielding irritated stares and parenting advice from three old Polish women, who are talking at me IN POLISH. When I finally leave the bus I realize they weren't giving me advice, they were telling me that I was exposing myself. "Of course," I think, when I feel the crisp winter air on my back. It feels lovely. I decide to just leave it like that for the entire walk home.

This is what happened when, in my Pavlovian avoidance of the car, I took Ilan to his doctor appointment by bus. It made the screaming-in-the-car routine look really good.

Despite the potential for terribleness, I will transport my children sans car when possible. I like being able to touch them and hold them, and really pay attention to them when necessary, which are things I can't do while driving. And I must enjoy the thrill of a high risk commute. It might be great or it might be horrid, but it will never be boring.