War of Wills

Meghan wasn’t very verbal when she was two years old. Most kids aren’t, but Meghan, especially so. She would grunt, hum and make intonations, much like Scooby Doo expresses himself. So when Meghan continually and consistently refused to be buckled into her car seat, I had no idea why.

No amount of pleading, begging, cajoling, reasoning, or yelling was working. I ended up having to reschedule doctors’ appointments, cancel preschool, any number of things because my headstrong daughter so hated her car seat.

I attempted reasoning.

“Meghan, we can’t go for a drive if you won’t sit and stay in your seat. It’s unsafe and against the law.” No response.

I threatened.

“Meghan, if you won’t get in your car seat, you’re going to have to stay home and I’ll call Samantha to come over and babysit you.” I did get a positive response to this threat on one occasion – just one. I attempted it numerous times after my first success but to no avail. After my first successful threat, Meghan recognized it for what it was – empty. I had no intention of calling a babysitter.

I tried strong-arming her, but she was very squirmy and frankly, stronger than me. It was hard enough holding her down in her seat while I scrambled to buckle her harness – not an easy feat – but then she learned how to unlatch the belt on her own. I would no sooner have her secured in her seat when, upon getting behind the wheel to start the car, a glance in the review mirror revealed that she was standing up on the seat behind me!

So, when I took Meghan with me to an appointment I had with my hand therapist, I knew what to expect. By now I had gotten in the habit of allowing myself thirty extra minutes to get Meghan in her seat. I had somehow managed to secure Meghan within the allotted time and I arrived at my appointment at nine o’clock, right on time.

When Meghan gave me grief after the appointment, I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I had been expecting it. I had come prepared. I was tired of fighting Meghan with my strong-arm tactics. Besides, I was losing those battles. And she acted as though she was deaf when I reasoned, cajoled or threatened. I was going to wait her out.

When Meghan first refused to get in her seat at ten o’clock, I took my book from the otherwise empty passenger seat, and began to read. No, not a children’s book read aloud to lull Meghan into dreamland, although in retrospect, that seems like a good idea. No, I had brought a thriller of my own to pass the time until Meghan surrendered.

And the time passed quickly. It was suddenly eleven o’clock and we were still in the parking lot. Every ten to fifteen minutes I would query as to Meghan’s readiness to go. Surely she was bored. Evidently not.

Then it was noon. Come on! Still, Meghan wouldn’t budge. My book was keeping me content so I didn’t argue. But isn’t she hungry?

Okay, it was one o’clock and I was hungry. Certainly Meghan needed a new diaper. Well if she did, it wasn’t bothering her.

“Meghan, we can’t go anywhere until you get in your seat and stay. If you’re not in your seat while I’m driving, the police will arrest me and put me in jail. Please, get in your seat.” Meghan showed no interest in what I was saying.

“You know what? I’m going to call Mama and maybe she can convince you.”

I called Mom on my cell phone, chastising myself for not thinking of this sooner.

“Hi, Mom; it’s me. I’ve been in a parked car with Meghan outside my hand therapist’s office for more than three hours. Meghan refuses to get in her car seat. I was hoping you would talk to her.”

“Jill, three hours?” my mom exclaims incredulously. “Give Meghan the phone; I’ll talk to her.”

I cannot hear what my mom is saying to Meghan but I can see that my mother has my daughter’s undivided attention. Meghan is grasping the phone firmly against her ear, and though she nods occasionally, she doesn’t utter a sound.

After a few minutes, Meghan hands me the phone.

“Hopefully, she’ll get in her seat now,” my mom says.

“Thanks, Mom. Wish me luck.” We disconnect.

“So, are you ready to go, Miss Meghan? You’re hungry, aren’t you?

Meghan regards me impassively. I can’t determine whether or not she will acquiesce.

I get out of the car and open Meghan’s door. She’s standing on the opposite side of the car, behind the driver’s seat. We have a bit of a staring contest. I reach for her; she backs away. I make a grab for her, and though she’s kicking and squirming, I am able to get her into her car seat. I hold her down with my left forearm while I struggle with the buckle. Click. Done.

I’m relieved but not out of the woods yet. Remember, she knows how to unlatch the buckle. I stand next to her, watching.

“Stay in your seat, Meghan. I am not going to spend another four hours in the car.” I’m already so mad at myself for having wasted four hours of my day to avoid strong-arming my daughter, only to have strong-armed her in the end.

I wait. She’s got a scowl on her face but she’s not fighting. Finally, I shut the car door and hurry back to the driver’s seat.

I pull out of the lot and whisper, “I win.” But really, did I? ✿