Genetics
On the way to daycare this morning, there was the slightest drizzle. After a few moments, the small droplets barely marred my view of the road.
“Mommy, you can turn on the wipers for that.”
“For what, baby?”
“For the rain.”
“I know.”
“You should really turn on the wipers, Mommy, so you can see.”
“I can see.”
“But there’s rain in the way, and the wipers make it go away.”
“I know.”
“You should turn them on.”
I laughed internally, flicking the control to swipe the windshield with one pass and restoring the glass to a pristine window. But as we continued to drive, the mist built up again.
“Mommy. Wipers.”
“Thank you baby.”
(Repeat this scenario four times, until Alex became exasperated.)
“Mommy, your wipers are BROKEN. They’re supposed to stay ON.”
OCD at its finest, y’all.