Getting my toddler into the car in 42 simple* steps and under 2 hours

There is a lot of talk about how getting out the front door with a toddler in tow is like the cardio workout most people don’t manage in a week. The struggle is real, right? 

While there’s no denying that trying to make a sharp exit with a small child hanging off your leg (or worse, running in the opposite direction) is a struggle you could probably do without in the morning, recently I’ve been faced with a bigger hurdle.

Getting out the house isn’t my main issue – most days, my almost two-year-old is out the door before I am (especially if someone has foolishly left the keys in the lock) – it’s what unfolds once we have left the safety of the four walls that causes so much sweat and so many tears.

So traumatic (for me) is the quest to get my toddler into the car, that I go to extreme lengths to make sure my plans for the day don’t involve having to drive anywhere. When this is unavoidable, I brace myself for the wrestle and hope that it won’t take quite as long as the previous attempt (the current record being almost two hours).

If the shit hits the fan when we’re getting in the car at home, at least we can abandon ship and just play in the driveway for a while (this has happened), but what’s way worse is getting back home – when we have no choice but to get behind the wheel.

Like all the times when I’ve had to press the ‘help’ button in the carpark because my allotted exit time has run out. In my opinion, 15 minutes isn’t long enough to get in the car when you’ve got a small child (try an hour), so I promise I’m never putting myself through the ordeal again. Until the next time when I have to, you know, go out and do stuff / have a life.

So without further ado, here is how I get my toddler into the car in 42 simple* steps and under 2 hours:

1. Realising that we have no food in the house other than eggs and tinned sweetcorn, I start thinking about my exit strategy the night before, psyching myself up for the scenes that will likely unfold on the driveway the following morning.
2. Spend the next hour trying to convince the husband to shuffle his work diary around so he can do the grocery shop instead.
3. Realise that doing a weekly grocery shop before a 9am meeting that is being held two hours away isn’t going to happen. Especially when the supermarket doesn’t open until 10am.
4. Spend the next hour cursing the supermarket, and the fact that neither of us were organised enough to do a weekly shop before now.
5. Wake up the next morning already exhausted.
6. Whilst spending the next almost three hours getting both of us ready, remind myself to pack toddler treats in exchange for her happily (ha!) getting in the car.
7. Get a bit smug and excited about the treat plan.
8. Realise there are no treats in the house, because there is no food, which is why I have to leave the house.
9. Wonder if offering eggs and tinned sweetcorn will be as effective as actual toddler treats.
10. Curse myself again for not being more organised with the weekly grocery shop and vow this won’t happen again (yeah right).
11. Finally get around to leaving the house. This is usually prompted by my toddler who is halfway out the door before I am.
12. Smile at how happy she is about being outside, as she excitedly shouts “CAR, CAR, CAR” and runs straight past it.
13. Stop smiling.
14. Throw all bags out the door and onto the driveway to retrieve the toddler who is now in nextdoor’s garden.
15. Manage to catch and carry her back towards the car as she wriggles, squirms, kicks and screams in protest.
16. Feel relieved that I am at home where the neighbours know I own the child, rather than thinking I am attempting to abduct her.
17. Feel sick as I think about getting her back into the car at the supermarket – where people MIGHT think I am abducting her.
18. Attempt to unlock the car, open the car door and keep hold of my squirming toddler all at the same time.
19. Fail miserably.
20. Doors are unlocked and open, but my toddler is now making her way to the neighbour’s garden again.
21. Wave at the neighbour (again) as I grab hold of my small escapee (again).
22. Marvel at how she has gone from 20-odd pounds to about 100, as she relaxes all her limbs and throws her arms straight up. A move otherwise known as The Toddler Deadweight.
23. Sweating profusely, head back to the car and manage to successfully get her in the car because the door is already open from the previous attempt.
24. Try to get her in the car seat but the classic Arched-Back Move has made it impossible.
25. On the verge of admitting defeat, spot a squashed pack of raisins on the floor of the car.
26. Reach down to use them as a bargaining tool without even questioning how long they have been there for.
27. Whilst grabbing the raisins, the toddler makes a run for it, but this time she’s got the driver’s seat in her sights.
28. Spend the next 15 minutes trying to coax her out of the driver’s seat, as she points to the passenger seat shouting “SIT DOWN MUMMY!”
29. Wonder if all toddlers are this bossy.
30. Remember the Peppa Pig CD that is already in the car and use this, as well as the raisins and a soother that magically appeared in the glove box, to get her in the car seat.
31. Remind myself not to get too excited until I hear the final click of the car seat harness, which doesn’t happen thanks to a twist in one of the straps.
32. Attempt to undo the twist quickly and calmly, but the toddler seizes her opportunity and attempts to get behind the wheel again.
33. Manage to catch her just before she has made it into the front of the car.
34. Turn the volume up on the Peppa Pig CD, whilst singing frantically along with it, as my toddler is successfully and finally fastened into her car seat.
35. Rejoice at the sound of the CLICK.
36. Collect bags from the driveway, throw them in the car and close the front door.
37. Whilst locking it realise the cat has seized his opportunity to run out the house during the ordeal.
38. Contemplate trying to catch him until he legs it across the road and jumps a 6ft wall in one swift leap.
39. Frazzled but relieved, get in the car and reverse off the driveway.
40. Almost at the end of the road smell something very unpleasant but familiar and realise that my toddler is WAY too quiet.
41. Turn the car around, pull up in the driveway and text the husband a list of groceries to pick up on his way home.
42. Pray there is a loaf of bread in the freezer to defrost and serve with the eggs that sit alone on a shelf in the fridge.

If you have any tried-and-tested tips for getting toddlers in the car, feel free to share. Or, if you have a funny tale to tell, email us [email protected].