It’s Sunday evening and we’re playing chase. My two-year-old is skimming past the kitchen island with the speed and precision of a Formula One driver. A miniature Oscar Piastri, he knows when to hit the throttle to avoid a narrow collision, even if my nervous system reacts as though he’s heading straight into the safety barrier.
Mini Piastri isn’t circling the kitchen island at home. No, we’re inside a pretend kitchen at Ikea. It’s where we come when every other kid-friendly place has closed and our night owl is still bounding with energy.
