Your Right Hand Thief

If necessity demands that you take your colicky infant to the doctor's office by yourself, don't dismiss your wife's inevitable concern over this with a cavalier: "No sweat, dear-- we'll be fine... isn't Mummy a spaz for worrying so much? Yes she is, yes she is!"

Why? Because an unexpected diaper "malfunction" might occur, and after cleaning up the mess you're now way behind schedule. You speed, park illegally, but are still literally running late. The specialist's office is on the hospital's fifth floor, and you're jogging through the lobby, swinging baby to and fro in one of those hand-held carriers. You're sweating and anxious, and looking for any opportunity to save time, when you spy an available crowded elevator going up. While jogging towards it, the doors begin closing... You're late, nothing else is open, what do you do? What do you do?!

Well, the wrong answer is this: Do not-- I mean it-- DO NOT make a break for the closing entrance a la Indiana Jones. Then when it becomes clear that you're not going to make it, PLEASE REFRAIN from lunging the plastic child carrier into closing doors, which slam loudly (Ka Clunk!) on the infant seat before retracting. When those doors finally reopen, you've never seen such a panoply of stunned, horrified faces.

My, that is one intensely awkward elevator ride. Normal elevator silence isn't a comfortable thing, but it's excruciating when you're surrounded by strangers who are all thinking some version of the following: "What kind of a monster shoves his child in between closing elevator doors to save twenty seconds? No wonder this poor kid needs to see a specialist.... oh and now she's crying... big surprise... I swear if this so-called 'father' ever comes near my kid, I'll punch his lights out."

So, don't do that. You're not Indiana Jones, and your kid isn't a trusty whip. Be late, and accept the "I told you so" when you get home.