Tallulah-size

Who needs jazzercise? Who needs step aerobics? Who needs a personal trainer?

Not me! I got Tallulah. All 29 pounds of her. Wrestling her into her carseat EACH and EVERY damn time I run errands renders me sweaty, sore, worn out, and definitely ready for a full body massage.

It is something to behold. She screams loud enough to mobilize CPS workers around the nation. She stiffins her body with such severity that it takes super human strength to fold her bottom into the car seat. She holds onto any and every thing within reach -- the seat in front of her, the other seat's seat belt, the edge of the car door -- with a super-glue grip. I've even tried pouring a dissolving agent over her hands to pry them loose. When I start to get the upper hand, she bites, scratches, pulls my hair, pinches my arms, and flails like a lunatic. I put her arms in the straps 10-15 times before I am able to make them stay that way.

It can take up to 10 minutes for the entire process, at the end of which I am too worn out to even remember where I was going in the first place. The other children wait patiently, looking like they'd like to be swallowed up by the earth instead of enduring this dance between the youngest and the mama. Usually, one or two of them actually apologize to me. They feel pity for me.

We've talked with her about it, in a nice reasonable, "teachable moment" kind of way; we've had more forceful talks as well; we (the whole family) have encouraged her to "be good and get strapped in;" we've done time outs; we've done rewards.

Since she turned three, the severity has increased. I utterly dread the act of getting her in her seat. Today, I've had to do it three times already, with a minimum of two more in front of me.

It's a waiting game. She won't be doing this when she's in high school, right? It will end eventually?

Although when that happens, I'm going to have to find a new work out regimen.

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Kidding about the dissolving agent.

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