Monday, May 28, 2012

Travel

Not long after you have a baby you will need to take it somewhere. If nothing else, you will need to take the baby from the hospital it was born in and transport it to wherever you live.

I chose to do this using my car.

It’s a reasonable size vehicle. It’s made by Skoda, which in the old days would have meant it being hewn from pure iron in a former communist factory fuelled by sweat and woe. Nowadays it means it’s a Volkswagen, but with less impressive residuals. It is large of boot and copious of airbag, it is the sort of car which a dad should own. Which (as well as a need to ferry bikes around) is why I bought it.

Before the baby arrived I posted about the joy of installing an Isofix car seat here. When I set off to bring The Creature and his mother home the car was as ready as it would ever be to receive its precious cargo.

I, on the other hand, was a wreck.

In case you’ve never done it, or been in the car when someone else was doing it, here’s how it goes: you open the door and lift the car seat onto the Isofix base, bumping it on every part of the car it passes en route. You sit in your seat and notice you’re sweating profusely. You start the engine and enter into a state of hyper awareness.

Suddenly, every other car on the road seems like it’s being driven by a lunatic. A drunk lunatic. A drunk lunatic with an intense dislike for children. To ensure no harm comes to the baby (who is blissfully unaware, sleeping and emitting the occasional squeak) you drive ten to fifteen miles per hour slower everywhere. Of course, this makes the drunk lunatics angry.

Your own driving turns to shit. Changing gear goes from being as smooth as a baby’s bottom, the product of years of repetition and consideration for both the car and passengers, to a grinding, jerky affair. You wonder whether purchasing a neck brace may be a good idea.

When you finally arrive home, with self inflicted whiplash, you breath a sigh of relief and resolve never to take your baby anywhere you can’t walk to ever again.

Then you remember your brother’s wedding is in six weeks and is one hundred and fifty miles away.

Six weeks is a long time though, so I’m pleased to say that I didn’t have to drive all the way to Nottingham at fifty miles per hour. I’m even more pleased to say that The Creature was a model passenger, sleeping for the entire journey in both directions.

Best of all, I only had to change out of sweaty clothes at journey’s end because the weather was so hot, not because of all the nervous energy.

Tell me your tales of child travel hell. What do I have to look forward to? Will I regret the fact my car has white seats?

16 comments:

  1. Hahahaa this was completely me when I started driving again. Even now after a whole 18 months I grumble under my breath at other drivers. "can't they see my baby on board badge? He's too close, I'm sure he's too close... Back off you crazy driver!!" etc.

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    1. This post was very nearly titled "Arse (Get your car off my...)"

      Tailgating takes on a whole new significance with a sprog in the back seat!

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  2. To be honest, I'm reassured! I see (as a dedicated foot-slogger most of the time) too many parents on the school run using kids as a potential air-bag or - worse, and just as illegal - rattling around as if the back seat were a bouncy castle. Oh, and on the 'phone. Why do so many parents choose the school-run to make their phone calls?

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    1. I dunno, but I had noticed that too. Don't really understand why anyone would ever need to take a call in the car anymore.

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  3. Great post as always sir! Your description of the anxiety associated with driving a young child around sums up how I envisage driving in general: how happy I am that I have never learned!

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    1. Thanks Tom :-)

      I can't imagine being without my own transport, but the way the cost of driving is going I may soon have to deal with a bike being my only means!

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  4. For the first seven months of my daughter's life she wailed through every single car journey. We had to go to a wedding at six weeks too: Bristol to Ipswich. It really was hell. That whole sleeping in the car lark? That didn't happen til she was 8 months old. Before that we either grinned and bore it or I got into the back and hung a boob over the seat. I wish I were joking.

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    1. Don't think I could cope with that (though what choice do you have?)

      I'm glad he seems to like the car.

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  5. You have white seats? Dude you need to trade that car in NOW! Seriously they aren't going to be white once he starts clambering around in his dirty shoes and kicking the seat in front.
    We have a big car, a seven seat SUV. Our first trip home there wasn't an inch of spare room with all the baby and dog stuff needed for just one weekend.

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    1. The car's a keeper, I don't mind it getting wrecked as in all likelihood I'll keep it until it's good for nothing but scrap anyway!

      Agree about the spare room though, I mistakenly thought there'd be plenty. There's enough, but not loads.

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  6. Oh you wait until you plan a trip to Manchester (from Cardiff) on August Bank Holiday Friday. Then start potty training your child a fortnight before. Don't associate these thoughts in your head until two days before you're due to leave and you realise it's 190 miles to Manchester.

    Then get stuck in the car for 8 and a half hours.

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    1. Oh dear, that does sound like fun! I hope you didn't have white seats ;-)

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  7. This brings back memories. Mind you your brilliant description of transporting a new baby could equally describe the sensation of driving ones brand new Skoda when, similarly, the roads appeared full of lunatics intent on denting the costly metallic paintwork. You will definitely regret white seats. Keep a washable rug spread over the back one and, when Baby's older, carry a beach bucket in the footwell at all times.

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    1. Thankfully my Skoda is pre-loved, and therefore has a healthy collection of scrapes already.

      Thanks for the tips, though I need an explanation of the bucket. Just for sick duties?

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  8. Haha so glad you wrote this. Makes me feel better about my bizarre behaviour after I had Miss T. And I had a c section and couldn't drive so imagine my horror at having to trust other human beings with independent thought to ferry her around. I decided it was safer all round to just sit on the sofa at home. But I got over it.

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    1. Mrs L didn't drive him anywhere until I returned to work, and was very worried about it. She's now totally over it and happily ferries him about in her little Fiat.

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