Way back a whole 16 months ago or so, my friend Marla and I remarked that as soon as we said something about our sons’ routines, they changed. So, we resolved, it was best be quiet about such matters.
Don’t tell someone your son started sleeping through the night or he would immediately stop. Don’t utter a word how your kid eats veggies like a champ, or he’d suddenly refuse anything remotely resembling a vegetable. Your kid hasn’t been sick in awhile? Keep it to yourself or the next week he’ll come down with the snottiest cold in the whole-wide world. You speak what you’re thinking aloud, and you tempt fate. It’s just not wise. Moms know all about this phenomenon—I’ve heard others say similar things.
So, why in the heck did I tell someone last week that my morning commute with O if often pretty peaceful? (Aside from the great poop incident of 2008, of course.) We usually ride in relative peace. I think in part it’s because we are both still waking up, so we just chill. I’m able to listen to my music—not the toddler-centric tunes that dominate the ride home—and O’s happy as a clam. Sometimes we chat, but often we ride in a comfortable silence. Why did I say it? Why? I guess I felt untouchable because this has been our routine for oh, just about 15 months or so.
Bad move. Every day this week, the ride into daycare/work has been less than pleasant. Between screams of “coooooo–kie,” “go-go,” shoe tossing, and kicks to the back of my seat, I’m surprised I make the half-hour commute and arrive to daycare in one piece.
Maybe now I should start talking about how bad our commute to work is. Does it work in reverse?