[And oh my, oh my, just look at my baby with her turquoise sweatshirt and thin hair and white mid-calf socks. Forget about it.]
The car has never been her thing. Nor the stroller, or the bike, or anything that forces her to sit somewhat stationary for more than twenty-three seconds at a time. For the better part of the 1's and 2's, we endured car rides, both long and short, through whining and moaning and tears and suckers and dvd's and music and pulling over and yelling, from giving her constant attention to ignoring her and trying everything else under the hood to make for an easier ride.
We would tell her during these years that most kids take naps in the car. Even Eisley, we would say to her, referencing her older housemate and closest friend. She would reply with Noooo Daddy!, with a cheeky grin on her face, as if what I was saying was a joke.
And then last week, some twenty-seven months after her previous nap in the car, after skipping the activity for the entirety of her one's and two's, she fell asleep in the car.