When I was expecting my second child, I threw myself into the search for the ultimate double stroller. Instead of applying the insights I should’ve gained from my first two years as a mom, I became unreasonably fixated on finding “the one.”
To me, “perfect” meant a stroller that was robust enough for long walks but light enough to lift in and out of the car without breaking a sweat. It needed to have a decent cup holder, adjustable handles, an easy-access basket, quality wheels, and a price tag that wouldn’t rival a week-long getaway in Fiji. I had resisted shelling out for the high-end Bugaboo with my first child, and I was determined not to fall into the trap of needing the luxury model this time around. That was one thing I managed to keep in check.
Of course, I was well aware that the perfect double stroller didn’t really exist. I had heard my friends lament their stroller choices—the flimsy baskets, the oversized wheels that couldn’t fit in the trunk, the complex mechanisms for folding them up. Yet, most people adapted and moved on with their lives.
But despite knowing all this, I wasted countless hours poring over online reviews. It became a silly obsession. In the end, we bought two double strollers: a heavy one for walks that we snagged from friends and a lightweight, budget-friendly one for the car. Both were mediocre at best, much like the single strollers we also owned for different occasions. Yes, that means we had four strollers, which might sound excessive, but we eventually expanded our family and those strollers got plenty of use.
Don’t worry, I’m not here to dwell on strollers anymore. What I came to realize was that my intense focus on finding the right stroller was really a manifestation of my anxiety about the changes coming with a second child. I was nervous about the leap from one child to two, feeling overwhelmed and unsure of my parenting abilities.
But if I’m honest, there was more to it than just self-doubt. I think I was grappling with feelings of loneliness and boredom. After my first child was born, I had stopped teaching, and writing wasn’t on my radar yet. My social life was lacking, and I didn’t yet understand that my kids needed a mom who was engaged in her own life, not one obsessed with finding the perfect stroller, winter jacket, or nursery decor. I had let trivial matters cloud my judgment, thinking that the right stroller would somehow make a difference in our lives.
Now, I have fewer of what I call “stroller moments”—those times when I slip from rational decision-making into unnecessary obsessing. My husband and I have a few code words we use to help each other regain perspective, and I find this tool incredibly useful for sidestepping anxiety spirals.
These days, my “stroller moments” tend to revolve around friendships or career moves, but the core issue remains the same: a misguided attempt to exert control over my life. I might find myself asking my husband, “Is this another double stroller situation?” and he can usually tell before I even finish the question.
Eventually, I hope to help my kids develop their own code words for those moments of uncertainty. But for now, they’re young and healthy, and they deserve to enjoy their innocence a little longer.
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In summary, the hunt for the perfect stroller was less about the stroller itself and more about my struggle for control during a significant life transition. Reflecting on that time has allowed me to develop healthier coping strategies and a better understanding of what truly matters as a parent.