Number of kilometres driven: 450
Number of hours travel time: 5.5
Number of stops: 1
Number of hours Harper cried NON STOP for: 1.5
Number of times we pulled over on the freeway: 3
Number of times Daisy told me we should never have had Harper: 6
Number of lolly pops consumed: 2
Number of Freddo Frogs consumed: 2
Number of times I threatened to turn around and go home: 2
So. We made it. Intact. In one piece. I was frazzled to say the least. Nerves frayed, a stress headache that lasted for hours later, and the memories too fresh and raw (and an eye twitch) for me to write about it last night. I mean it was fine, it really was, but when it was bad, it was so bad that it I wondered why I would attempt such madness and swore to myself that I would never, ever drive by myself again over long distances.
The problem was the 19 month old. It’s always the toddler right? She wasn’t a fan of being strapped in. She wasn’t a fan of the headphones for the DVD player. She wasn’t a fan of the book reading. Or snacks. Or choice of music. Or sleep. Or her sister. Or funnily enough, my yelling about her dislike of all said things.
A personal low point was at Raymond Terrace to just past Bulahdelah (over a 100kms and approx 52 minutes) when she would not. Stop. Crying. Pulling over just delayed things and made the inevitable departure worse. So I just had to keep driving, knowing that eventually she would stop. Exhausted. Right?! She put up a pretty good fight though which had me yelling things like “do you want me to crash the car and WE’LL ALL DIE BECAUSE I CANNOT CONCENTRATE FOR FUCKS SAKE WILL YOU STOP CRYING?!” Yes. I said that shit. Out loud. What was in my mind was much worse. Which lead Daisy to cry wishing her sister was never born and then lamenting and fixating on death for the entire trip explaining to us all that we will die. What will happen when we die. What happens to our skin, our bones, when we die which spiked the toddler’s interest at least stopped crying for a moment but instead had her saying for 10 minutes after “My die! MY DIE!”
Good times people. Good times.
I know it won’t be like this forever. And that one day both kids will get in the car, whack their headphones on and not talk to me for hours and I’ll miss this. The madness, the chaos, the humour of it all. But right now, like the stitches up the wazoo post labour, the pain is fresh. And real. And I am ignoring the fact that we have to drive back on Sunday and do this all again. At least I will have Rob with me to drive, just drive while I throw things at the baby and rub her leg while she sleeps and keep the travelling show going from the passenger seat all the way home. God bless mothers.