I have been to visit a friend, she has a baby boy, who is 3 days younger than mine and she lives on the opposite side of Melbourne to me.
This is fine, it gives me something to do and gets myself and Poppy out of the house. We had a really lovely time, the babies played with bits of paper and kitchen utensils. We drank coffee and swapped teething war stories. The perfect Mummy/Baby date.
So, I have strategically planned our exit from her house so that it coincides with Poppy’s nap time, therefore meaning she will sleep the entire journey home and I won’t have to listen to her complain about being strapped to a chair like a banshee for over an hour. Everything sounds bloody hunky dory right? Wrong!
We get in the car, Poppy, like the well-oiled sleep-machine that she is, falls asleep within minutes of me taking off. Score, Mum win! This trip should be a breeze. I have relaxing music playing, it’s a beautiful sunny day (I shouldn’t have worn jeans), the traffic is going at a nice pace and, oh ok, maybe don’t just cut in front of my car, you know it’s kind of a safety issue,but that’s fine, just continue on at 60km, pretty sure it’s 80km, maybe even 100km along here on the freeway. It’s fine though, maybe that’s life telling me to just go with the flow.
The whole 60km thing isn’t really working for me now, it’s been about 10 minutes and I have given you the benefit of the doubt but you’re starting to give me the shits, oh just stop, yeah stop suddenly, please, I love it when people do that. Oh, you’re on your phone, that’s illegal and moronic. It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll change lanes and be on my way. This music is so relaxing.
My indicator means I want to change lanes you dickface, don’t be stubborn just let me in. I see what you’re doing. Let’s all stop and rather than you letting me in, just pull up next to me so I’m stuck and I’ll stare at you with my demonic red eyes until you melt or explode. These jeans are really starting to feel tight. Thank you person behind Moron man, you have a kind heart and more patience than that twithead, I appreciate you and all that you do.
This music is so lovely, so calming and makes me feel… if you think you can just drive into my car because you’re in a van and have a self proclaimed crown up your ass, you have got the wrong idea buddy. Oh it’s you, twithead phone man from before. You’re back are you? No, don’t keep driving into my car! You now what I’m going to do? Nothing, because my child is asleep, or else I would beep this horn. But I can’t, so I’m just going to bitch and moan in complete silence. You’re lucky. Wow, these jeans really make your legs feel like they are squeezed under a steam roller!
Now, he’s gone. This is great. On to Nepean highway, it’s only 3pm so the traffic should be fairly quiet. I think the speed limit here is 80km. When I say think, I mean I know it is, because there are 25 signs around informing us of that. 55km is an interesting choice though. Oh hey, dude behind me, it’s not my fault that I’m going this slow, it’s old mate in front of me. Yeah, not my fault. I can see you yelling. I actually want to get home today. We are going so slow I think we are going back in time! Whoever invented skinny jeans should be burnt at the stake for the pain and suffering it inflicts on its victims. Hey Melbourne, why be arctic temperatures in the morning and by the afternoon we fall in the depths of hell and those wearing jeans want to die a quick and sudden death because their legs are being crushed to the size of a pencil. It was meant to be cold! The speed limit is 80km you slow, prehistoric monster! This music is so calming!
I literally didn’t think you could squeeze a steering wheel so hard, I can see my handprints in it, my knuckles are so white they actually reflect light, my hands have no blood flow anymore and my soul is slowly dying. This song is not quiet and calming, I chose this playlist because it is called “relax and calm”, not “Wake up your child and send the Mother into a Mental asylum”. Poppy is still sleeping, Spotify I won’t write you a severely stern letter (which you won’t ever read because who do you even send it to?), but don’t pull that shit with me again.
I’m on the home stretch. Back on the freeway, a good 100km an hour and I’m home. Ok, so we are stopping, stopping is not 100km. Why? Why? Everyone knows the rule of getting your child to sleep in the car, is that the car doesn’t stop! So why? What is happening? Someone is changing a tyre, isn’t that so interesting?! Are we all happy that we stopped and moved at a snail pace to watch the poor man do an activity that we have all witnessed and been a part of? Unless you are from the Planet Zorg and have never seen this mundane task happen on the side of a road, then I suggest you move your ass at the suggested speed limit, or so help me god, there will be a wrath so harsh that even cockroaches will want to eat themselves and disappear. If I don’t get these jeans off in the next 4 seconds, I will amputate my own legs, I will, I actually will.
Thank you. That’s not so hard is it? Nearly home, next exit, Hallelujah! The speed limit is not 60km! I see you! I see you showing people around, pointing your stupid arm at things that aren’t even remotely interesting and I feel sorry for your friends who are probably so bored that their eyelids have sewn themselves closed to protect the eyeballs from your boring places of interest. MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE! I swear I need an asthma puffer, I think my kidneys are bleeding and I need to call a priest ASAP to perform an exorcism to save my soul.
The driveway. The beautiful driveway. It’s so inviting and quiet. I slowly drive in and stop the car. I turn around and see the beautiful site of Poppy waking up, out of her undisturbed slumber, where she dreamt of fairies and unicorns, while I am missing chunks of hair, my eyeballs are bleeding and my heart is now located in my left ear. But we are home, and she slept, and didn’t wake up.
Mum life at it’s finest.
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