To my left
is a three-year-old who claims she desperately needs a wee. I know she doesn’t
because we’ve only just pulled up on the hard shoulder where she virtually
filled a whole potty. That was the third wee stop in an hour.
I know
long car journeys are up there with hearing someone tell you about their dreams
on the boring scale, but still. We’re not going to get to our destination any faster
if we have to stop every 10 miles for a phantom wee.
But on the other hand, she could be genuine.
And if that’s the case and we don’t pull over again, doesn’t that make us the worst parents ever?
But on the other hand, she could be genuine.
And if that’s the case and we don’t pull over again, doesn’t that make us the worst parents ever?
So
there’s that.
Then, on
my right, I have a four-month-old baby who is screaming himself purple because
he’s hungry. I’ve left his bottle of milk on the worktop at home. I can picture
it, it was right next to a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.
Which I have remembered to pick up, so that doesn’t bode well on the good parenting front.
Which I have remembered to pick up, so that doesn’t bode well on the good parenting front.
Hence I’m
sitting in the back of the car, having squashed myself into a space so titchy
that I’d give a professional contortionist a run for their money.
And
now, I’m trying to do the impossible.
I’m attempting
to breast feed my baby without;
a)
removing my seatbelt
b)
moving him at all in his baby seator c) showing my tits to the men in the white van next to us.
Because,
we are, of course stuck in standstill traffic and have been since rejoining the
motorway after wee three, so I have a captive audience.
It is
also knocking on 25 degrees so I’m sweating my face off.
I
remember how I used to enjoy long car journeys. How I’d stock up on Diet Coke
and pickled onion Monster Munch and spend the entirety of the drive listening to
air-punchingly good songs.
But
Angry Anderson’s ‘Suddenly’ feels like a distant memory. It’s ‘Wind the Bobbin Up’ a capella all the way these days.
Just as
I think I’m going to crack a rib, the crying stops. He shuts his eyes in
protest, sucks his fingers, and falls instantly to sleep.
I look
to my left and my daughter is rubbing her eyes, and moments later, she too is
asleep.
We turn
off ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ in favour of a Gardener’s Question Time, I open the
packet of salt and vinegar, and momentarily experience something like peace.
Until I
realise I am squashed into a space the size of an old 50p, parked on the M1
with my breast out.
I guess you can’t have it all.
parenting never changes , 20 years ago we were sat on the side of the A1 on one of the traffic camera sites with a 2 year old waving to lorries from her pink potty a the traffic wizzed past ....they grow up and you wonder where the time went
ReplyDeleteThe time does go so quickly doesn't it? But the wee stops in route don't half make your journeys take forever
DeleteBrings it all back....now live with a 3 year old grandaughter who wants to know how a folding table works, if gravity is dropping things and has managed to get wee over her very large gorilla before 9am. But I'm grandma...her Dad gets on with the explaining & the wiping while I get away with a few hugs
ReplyDeleteThe best bit Bridget! x
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