I think my daughter Catherine is developing phobias. Or I'm giving them to her, somehow.
First it was the elevator phobia. That one manifested as a tantrum waiting for the elevator inside Sears, and the only thing I could figure out is that she thought it was the same as the elevator that takes her to the pediatrician's office.
Today she had a similar unfathomable meltdown inside the local small-town post office. I had to maneuver the double jogstroller though the narrow door that was built some time well before the Americans With Disabilities Act. THEN she has a major tantrum, for no apparent rational reason.
She won this time. I wasn't going to get in a line of eight people with a screaming baby in a double jogstroller taking up half the small room. I couldn't even buy stamps because the antique machine in the lobby only took coins.
She calmed down the second we got out the door. Go figure.
Now I could totally understand it if she screamed at the sight of a bunch of posers and Lance-wannabes wearing USPS cycling jerseys, but no....