A couple of weekends ago, Allie and I went to a coworker’s son’s co-ed baby shower in San Clemente. Mr. W didn’t go, because he had to be on a liquid restriction for a medical procedure the next day, and he said he didn’t want to be around food that he couldn’t have. Mr. W participated to the extent that he picked out (and dressed Allie in) his favorite black-and-white polka-dot dress, perfect for the warm summer weather, he said, and while Allie and I went alone, Mr. W went to get a massage instead.

Soon after Allie and I got on the freeway, the entire strip was congested in stop-and-go traffic thanks to a 4-car accident and 4-5 California Highway Patrol cops surrounding the involved cars. Even though all the cars were pulled off the freeway already, all the gawkers big-time slowed the drive. Pretty early on in this mess, Allie started uncharacteristic fussing and whimpering in the backseat. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get through this soon, you’re okay, you’re okay,” I’d kept saying to her, checking on her often from the rear view mirror, which reflects back from the baby mirror I’d put on the backseat so that I could see Allie’s rear-facing carseat. The freeway cleared for maaaaybe half a mile, then congested again thanks to an exit-ramp closure on the exact exit we were supposed to get off on. I had the traffic layer up on phone’s GPS, and all I could see was a giant streak of red for the duration of the trip. It looked like my map app was bleeding. Oh my gawd, this is the worst drive, ever, I thought more than once.

I decided to get off an exit early, get away from the congestion, and just take the surface streets to the party. My car’s nav couldn’t keep up and therefore didn’t redraw the directions in time, so I made a guess and turned after I exited. Of course I turned the wrong way. And since this was beachside streets, and near Pacific Coast Highway, and one-way split streets, and an intersection of freeways, the nav kept drawing and redrawing me in loops and circles no matter WHAT I did. Allie was screaming and crying through this. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is officially The Worst Drive Ever! Mommy’s so sorry!” I apologized repeatedly to the approaching-hysteria Allie.

After wasting 10+ minutes going in circles and being completely confused by the car navigation system’s constant redrawing of yet more loops and endless circles every time I turned (“Oh my gawd, you’re effing me. You have GOT to be effing me! Mommy’s so sorry, baby, this is the Worst Drive Ever! Please stop crying!”), I gave up and went back on the freeway at the exact point I’d gotten off. Allie quieted for a moment, but soon started crying and whimpering in the saddest way. Talking to her didn’t help, giving her her teething giraffe Sophie didn’t help. The crying turned into screams. I wasn’t used to this — this isn’t like her. Of course, most drives, I’m in the backseat entertaining her while Mr. W drove, so this is different for her, too.

Inch by slow agonizing inch in heavy traffic, I had to drive past the closed-due-to-construction exit that I was supposed to get off on, get off on the next exit a few miles away, turn around, and get back on the freeway the other way to get off on the correct exit going the opposite direction, all with my daughter freaking out in the back. After I exited, I was looking at the rear view mirror at her when suddenly, I saw a giant column of milk pour out of her mouth. As I watched, a second column spilled out, this time lasting even longer. Oh my God, oh my God, I thought to myself as I immediately pulled into the closest plaza and parked. Allie was quiet now, and looked glazed but calm. I plowed into the backseat, apologizing frantically for subjecting Allie to what is now historically THE WORST DRIVE, EVER-ever, grabbed a t-shirt I happened to have in the backseat and started mopping at her. She and Sophie were both covered and sitting in a pool of chunky half-digested breastmilk. I went through a mental panic trying to decide what to do. She needed to be bathed, she needed to be changed, she needed to be comforted, and she’s now probably hungry. But if I took her out here, I won’t be able to get her back in and we’d be stranded. We’re half a mile from my coworker’s house. Should I keep going? what kind of mother would I be if I took my sick baby to a party covered in vomit? I should just go home. But that would mean turning right around, and putting Allie through another drive through traffic when she’s already so unhappy. Should I take her to a hospital? What if she’s actually really SICK? She’d never vomited before like this.

I had called Mr. W repeatedly but of course he didn’t pick up his phone. I’d also called my coworker and she didn’t pick up, either. I looked at Allie. Allie looked at me. The phone rang. I picked it up and my coworker said, “Hi! Where are you?” I blubbered and poured my story in all its panicky glory into the phone. “No, no, don’t go home. Bring her here. We’ll clean her up and give her a break from the car.” That sounded good, so I left Allie and got back in the front seat. The poor girl started WAILING, her lower chin shaking, as if she couldn’t understand how I could abandon her in her time of need like this.

As soon as I got her to my coworker’s house, she was fine. My coworker was outside to direct us into her driveway (where she’d saved a spot for us to park), some other coworkers and retired coworkers excited to see Allie came out to greet us, and all I could do was apologize and then rush the baby into the master bathroom. My WONDERFUL coworker and I undressed Allie down to her diaper, and I cleaned Allie up while my coworker hand-washed Allie’s little dress and removed components of vomit-soaked carseat, threw those in the washing machine and put the carseat itself outside to dry. Digging through the diaper bag, I was dismayed to find that the only extra emergency clothes was a long-sleeved sleep-and-play with feet that likely was too small for her, and it was a 90-degree day. That, and a beanie cap. =P Luckily, it was warm in the house so we just left Allie as-is and she was instantly in a GREAT mood once she was no longer sticky. I fed her some pureed zucchini & rice, and papaya that I’d brought. She ate well, then played well in the living room among all the strangers, crawling around and pointing at balloons, chewing on party favors, talking to people, all while wearing a diaper, her bib, and her little canvas sneakers.

Allie sat quietly on the drive home (which took less than half the time I’d spent to get to the party, now that the freeways were clear), looking out the window, playing here and there with her toys in the car, and fell asleep the last 5 minutes of the drive, and still slept through the night. We theorized that Allie got carsick probably just from the combination of heat, being alone back there, being in my little sports car instead of her daddy’s car that she’s used to, and dealing with all the stop-and-gos and turns and u-turns that I was making.

I learned something that day. The lesson is to ALWAYS LISTEN TO KYDEN. You’d think I would’ve learned from his experience, especially when looking in the comments, it appears I’d predicted this day would come way back in February, but nooo. Speaking of failing to learn from experience, Allie’s diaper bag still contains no updated clothes, now that I think about it.

***
Addendum, 11pm.
While discussing the above event with Flip Flop Girl (Kyden’s mommy) online just now:

me: I usually go super-calm during a disaster-type situation as my brain automatically goes into task-mode, damage-control, etc., but now I know that when it comes to my baby, my brain turns to instant oatmeal.
flip flop girl: that’s really surprising
i would think that BECAUSE it’s your baby that you’d have to be the strong, calm one in that situation
me: It surprised and dismayed me, too. Now I know I need a trunk monkey who would come out during those times and slap me.
flip flop girl: hahaha
or better yet
he can take care of everything for you
that’s much better than getting slapped, right?
me: oh, I guess while I’m wishing for things, I may as well wish for that, instead.