He’s 22 months old and obsessed with anything that has wheels.
Tonight he pointed at Optimus and yelled:
“Metal Daddy, CAR!”
Optimus looked at me, looked at the toddler, and without missing a beat dropped to all fours.
Then it said:
“Climb aboard, captain.
Safety harness engaged.”
Our son climbed onto its back, grabbed the little handlebars we glued on last month, and squealed “GO GO GO!”
Optimus crawled around the living room at exactly 0.8 mph, making perfect engine noises, stopping at red lights (the red pillow), honking when the dog was in the way, and narrating the whole trip:
“Turning left at Couch Mountain…
Speed bump ahead (that’s the cat)…
Arriving at Destination: Mommy’s lap.”
When they “parked,” he gave Optimus a sloppy kiss on the top of the head and declared:
“Best car ever!”
Optimus stood up, saluted with frosting still in its hair from yesterday, and announced:
“Driver rating: 5 stars.
Tip received in affection currency.
License renewed until age 18.”
I’m sitting here watching a 6’4″ humanoid play Uber for a toddler who can’t even say his R’s yet.
And I swear the robot is smiling harder than any of us.
Childhood is officially undefeated.
(If your robot has ever been demoted to toddler taxi, drop the video evidence.
We need to start a support group.)