Hoorah for the Drive Thru

Long before I had a baby, I was once consoling a friend that had just had a run in with the police. She’d been given a warning for leaving her four kids in the car while she ran into the bakery. I’d understand if perhaps she’d been gone 10 minutes, or moved more than 50m away from the car, or if the kids were younger and prone to testing handbrakes for their staying power. And yet, she’d parked directly outside the bakery, been gone less than three minutes, stayed within site at all times... and the oldest child was a responsible 13 year old. She swears the police would have seen her pull over, observed the kids and waited for her to come back before swooping down to admonish her. Community Service calls where threatened, and her mothering esteem left in tatters.
Now, regardless of whether the story is true – perhaps she failed to tell me that she’d also got her nails done just next door, or infact the park was right in front of the 500m wide carpark that was right in front of the bakery – but none the less. I’m left with an indelible sense that leaving kids in the car is an absolute no no. As well it should be. We’re all familiar with the dangers (and risk of tabloid headlines) when kids are left in cars outside casinos.

As my friend confided in me, I was both shocked at the severity with which the police took the matter, and simultaneously a little bemused by my friend thinking that she should be able to get away with it. It’s another one of those things that we survived growing up, but society now deems too dangerous. Surely, I mused, it can’t be that much of a problem to shop with children.

Enter my own child. I’ll now do anything to avoid waking a sleeping baby in the back seat, avoiding the fuss of extracting said baby from the car seat only to re-insert two minutes later for a quick errand. I would never leave him in the car in the street, but I’ve discovered a whole new dimension of “convenience” in Service Stations where the pump forecourt serves as a mini daycare. I should be worried about leaving my child unattended in the car next to 40,000 litres of flammable fuel. Instead, I find myself more concerned about my mothering image. I’ll even drive to the pump area if I’m not filling up as it seems more acceptable to leave my child there than parking in the designated non-fuel purchase bays. I’m curious as to whether this is legal or not, but frankly too scared to google it just in case it’s not.

My understanding of in-car convenience took on a new face earlier this week in my quest for a takeaway cup of tea. I’m shocked to say I bordered on ecstasy when I saw a McDonalds Drive Thru. Everyone knows that hot beverages are NOT the Drive Thru’s forte. And yet there I was, salivating at the lights. I had a two hour drive home in front of me, and the blessed babe had fallen asleep as soon as the car had started. The drive thru woman tried three times to give me fries with my order, but all I wanted was the tea. Give me a polystyrene cup of hot water and self serve tea bag to dunk anyday if it means I can stay in my car, and quench my thirst.

It made me think, is there a market for me to make my millions in an expanded drive thru offer? Not at McDonalds (although a good Earl Grey tea would be nice), but across all sorts of categories? There are drive thru donuts, ATMs, dry cleaners and bottle shops. There are drive-in movies, drive thru marriages (and divorces too). What else, I wondererd, would we love to see available from the comfort of our own car? What about a decent coffee? A drive thru massage? A drive thru hair cut? Drive thru sleep school or library book return? Queuing could be an issue, but would be worth it.

Then, I thought, I’ve got it! How about drive thru daycare, where the child is entertained (and restrained!) in the back seat while you can sit quietly in the front seat for an adult conversation or simply to focus on the road and your thoughts... Oh, that’s right. We already have that – it’s called the portable DVD player. My millions will have to wait. Right now, we're almost home and we need more milk. Caltex, here we come.

Watch me! I'm in process

It suddenly struck me yesterday as I found myself staring at every parent at the local shopping centre. Six months ago, before I had baby James, I would have filtered out all parents attending to small children from my visual sweep of the food hall. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but I mentally put them in the “parent” box, fixed, stagnant, and moved on.

And now? Now I’m fascinated. As I try to disguise my interest by watching through my unwashed, baby chewed fringe, I’m wondering... How old is the baby? Where are they up to? How are they both coping? I find myself flooded with empathy for those with babies under 6 months, and curious about those further along than me. What’s next? How do they make it work?

Rather than simply being a parent, a fixed state, these strangers are suddenly people “in process” for me. I’m thinking that things change so quickly, I need to notice what’s going on. It makes me wonder - how many other people I must put into categories without appreciating their process, their journey? People with grey hair? Old. Retired. Nothing going on there. Men in business suits? Focused. Aloof. Nothing going on there either.

It’s like wearing new glasses - to suddenly realise that everyone is changing, everyone is moving towards somewhere, away from someplace else. Grappling, hoping, grieving, fearing – whether its conscious or not. Perhaps the enlightened ones are just being, but I’m not sure there’s too many of those. It makes me want to grab people and ask them to tell me their story. Where they’re up to, where they hope it will go. How extraordinary it is to be human.

Beware the baby whisperer

Emerging from the fogged-in brain days of new mum-ness, I’m intrigued to discover the phenomenon of the self declared baby whisperer. Up there with the people who touch your stomach in pregnancy, they are complete strangers to your baby, who step forward in those moments when your new child is publicly losing it. And your new mum ego is up for a bit of a battering. Taking the child from you, uninvited, the baby whisperer declares “I’m not scared of a crying baby. He just needs....”

Needs what? A complete stranger to bounce, jiggle, croon and smell differently from everything else that is familiar to him? Yes! Bring it on! That’s just what I’d need when I’m upset in a strange new world and overwhelmed, overtired, uncomfortable, hungry... or just plain grumpy. And if said stranger happens to jag it and the baby settles for them, you’re clearly incompetent (or at least that’s the tape that’s playing in my head!). If the baby keeps crying, he’s returned to you with “what an unsettled child – mine where never as bad as that”. Most helpful. Thank you.

At first, when these baby whisperers descended on me and my new bundle, I used to hand the baby over – assuming there must be some trick that I just wasn’t getting. That my baby was indeed better off in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing – because God knows I didn’t. Moreover, being the evolved person I want others to think I am, I couldn’t appear to be an over protective, defensive mother, could I? So, I’d watch and learn what he responded to – or didn’t, as the case may be - and evolve my repertoire.

Three months in though, my baby and I are a unit, well... almost. We’re starting to get each other. We’re in a rhythm, if not a routine, and his baby cries are making far more sense... most of the time. When we’re out and about and in the throws of a “scene” – my mothering ego is on the line. If you presume to know better and take my baby now, the primal beast in me may well be unleashed. To the true horror of my evolved side. The beast will want to say “step away from my baby” (with expletives thrown in for optimal effect). My evolved voice will gag her and I may just stare at you in horror, and then agonise later about how I could have handled it better.

To save my schizophrenic self, I have now prepared a speech. “Thank you, but we’ll be fine.” Short, and perhaps a lie, but fit for purpose. It comes with the optional extra of “i’ll settle him first and then you can have a hold”. Again, optimistic, and in control. Even if that’s the last thing I feel!

So, the moral of the story? When we’re out in public, leave me to my crying baby. Or If I need some help, I’ll ask. Oh, and note to self, as I grow in my confidence, may I never impose my baby whispering on others!

Beware the "baby on board"

At 11 days into this first time mother thing, I’ve suddenly realised the whole meaning of those cutsie “baby on board” signs. As a non-mother, I’d always thought they were a social statement – a way of identifying with other parents, perhaps an excuse for the daggy window coverings and a messy back seat. At worst it was a snub to those of us with fertility issues.

As a new mother, I have a whole new respect. “Baby on board” doesn’t even begin to describe the potential risk inside.  They should warn “sleep deprived and most likely hormonal parent at the wheel - being driven to distraction by screaming baby in the back – pass by with caution”. Of course, a sign like that would take up the whole back windscreen. But it’s exactly what needs to be said. Other drivers should give us “baby on boarders” as wide a berth as they do “L” platers.

Road safety research just released by Queensland University says sleep deprived new mums are as dangerous behind the wheel as drunk drivers. Whether it’s the distraction of the baby, the reduced acuity for other moving objects through a sleep deprived fog, the change in spatial awareness caused by fluxing hormones, the overly cautious paranoia to protect your child that creeps in to otherwise normal manoeuvres that make you unpredictable to other drivers... there are so many reasons to avoid new parents on the road. 

How can it be that you only find this out when you’re the one to be cautious about? It’s another classic example of the things you just don’t know until you are the new parent.  So what would a public campaign look like? Would it start in school with a forced sleep loss experiment and recordings of screeching babies for the final driver’s education class? Could it be TV spots akin to the graphic horror of the traffic accident advertisements? Does it include the extention module that requires drivers to practice talking in their most animated, sing song voice to calm the imaginary baby while driving with one hand, the other draped at the most un-natural angle across to the back seat jiggling coloured play things in desperation?

We’ve seen road rules change with the advent of the mobile phone. Do we need explicit road rules to cover no unwrapping of cheese sticks while driving to pacify a distressed infant? At least with a baby so young and totally reliant on my mamaries, I haven’t been tempted to whip one out in the middle of moving traffic, but given some of our excursions so far I can see I could be tempted in time to do anything to get to my destination with more calming speed!

So beware, the next time you see the “baby on board” sign – think of the possible angst inside the vehicle connected to it and give the driver a wide berth and a bit of grace. You never know when you may need the same.