Sarah and I have been parents for almost five months and have many of our routines solidified, including loading up the car to go on a trip, even if it is just across town.
The other day, I had securely fastened my daughter’s car seat into its base, let my wife in, and closed her door. I jumped in the car ready to go, when I saw what initially appeared to be a large fly buzzing along the inside of the windshield. Upon further inspection, I realized it was not a fly but a bee. I am allergic to bees, so I did what I had to do. I left my wife and child behind. As I assessed the situation from the safety of the outside world, my wife began to scream, huddled inches from our daughter’s face.
The bee had moved to the back seat of the car.
I valiantly opened the back door and with sheer force of will (I was not actually going to get near it), shooed the bee from the car. It flew away to terrorize another family, and I got back in the car, still processing what had happened. It went by so quickly. I put the car in reverse, when from the back seat, my wife cried out again. “It’s still back here!” I jumped out, opened the door again, and reassured her that the bee was gone.
At this point, Philomena was crying, and Sarah was shaken, hyperventilating. So, minus the bee, it was business as usual in the family car.