Earlier this year, I made the tremendously huge mistake of taking my two-year-old daughter and four-year-old son to the park near our house, with only one small, fold-up stroller?the kind that looks almost like a toddler toy but is meant to carry my most wiggly of spawn safely from point A to point B. I assumed my son could handle the walk on his own, that those quickly growing legs, having already navigated a year of junior kindergarten, could certainly trek solo to the wading pool without assistance. Huge mistake. I?m still, with the care of knowledgeable professionals, working on healing the pain in my back that excursion caused, trying to carry a kindergartner while pushing a rickety stroller with one hand, home to what suddenly felt like a greater Siberian outpost much, much further than the several blocks back to our home. It was but one of the many Sisyphean journeys I?ve taken with my two young kids, our ventures out into the world coloured by my inability to transport both sweet but lazy children from the park to the store to the house without some sort of struggle.
Now that my kids are doing miraculous things like sleeping independently through the night and eating food by themselves, or at least pushing food around and sometimes even close to their mouths, the physical act of getting around the city is my biggest parenting dilemma.
I?ve worked my way through an Uppababy Vista (used lovingly and extensively, to the point of destruction), an Uppababy Cruz that was ...