Rite of Passage - Back Seat Cryer

Now that I'm 2 months into this motherhood thing, I've realized there are certain experiences that only mothers of infants can go through. I'm calling these instances "Rites of Passage" because once you've gone through them - you're almost solidified - almost initiated - into the Motherhood Sorority.

The first Rite of Passage was the debacle of trying to get ready with a newborn.

The latest Rite of Passage Izzy has put me through is the Back Seat Cryer.

Izzy is normally pretty good in the car seat. Once, we get moving, she's out and will sleep until we get to our destination.

But, when the trip is particularly long or she's just not having it - boy oh boy....

We've had 2 back seat crying experiences - the first on the way to see Christi all the way in Little Elm (over an hour away from me) and the second was today after Stroller Strides.

Both ended in tears...for Izzy and for me...

We're driving along happily and the fussing starts. The fussing that simply sounds like she's unhappy and wants out of the car. Those little sounds are easily ignored. I figure once I hit the highway and go faster - "I like to go fast!" (A little shout out to my "Talledega Night" fans...sorry - I digress...) - her whimpers will subside.

BWAHAHAHA
{insert evil laugh here}

Was I WRONG!

All of a sudden, the fussing turns to cries, the cries turn wail and the wails turn to silence - silence because she's having to take gulps of air between her angry cries....crap...

I check back and look in the mirror and see her little face red as a beet. I see her arms flailing and legs kicking. I can't even see the whites of her eyes because her eyes are closed so tight and tears are streaming down her face. Her sweet, beautiful mouth is now emitting the worst sound ever - the sound of complete and utter unhappiness....

So - I'm super mom, right? I'm gonna fix this even if I am driving down I-20 with 18 wheelers on either side of me, motorcycle maniacs weaving in and out of traffic, and invincible teenagers in their SUV's talking and texting on their cell phones...

I start on the loudest version of the "Itsy Bitsy Spider" - her favorite song that I know will get a smile. I figure the louder I sing it the better my chances are it'll drown out her cries.

Operation "Itsy Bitsy Spider" = FAIL

Ok - plan B. The noise stopper - erm - pacifier is in her car seat! I'll just reach back there, feel for her binky and pop it into her mouth (umm...yes I AM still on the highway....don't even start with me...). I reach back and feel around but all I feel is her tear stained face and arms flapping. Now I've made her more angry...she can feel my hands and I'm pretty sure Iz thinks I'm getting ready to get her out of the car seat.

Operation Binky = FAIL

Alright, this is silly. I'll just talk to her. I start to tell her, "Oh Bug, we'll be home soon. Ten more minutes (really it's 20 - but come on - she's 2 months old). Calm down! You're fine!!"

Really?

Really?

REALLY?

I'm trying to reason with my 2 month old. She doesn't even know those are words coming out of my mouth...

Operation Reason with my 2 month Old = FAIL

Ok - my only option. Speed...drive, drive as fast as I can. Go 80 MPH til I exit then go 50 MPH til I reach home. I start to pray. Not for a safe arrival home - but for a cop who will show mercy on me once I get pulled over for going 90 MPH in a school zone.

I start to think of the scenarios once said cop pulls me over...

- If it's a female - I pray she's a mom - and once she hears my sweet Izzy's crying - she'll give me a knowing look, just wave me a long...heck ...maybe she'll even escort me home..

- If it's a male- I'll start with tears, point to my Izzy and beg and plead with him while repeatedly saying, "I'm so sorry...I'm a first time mom...I don't know what's wrong with her!" Then he'll take pity on me, maybe call CPS, and let me go....

Either one...I'm ready...

At this point, I know the only thing I can do is get home as fast as I can. I turn the radio up to drown out her cries, take a peek back every now and then and see to make sure my Angry Izzy is still kicking and screaming (hey - that means she's still breathing...that's important you know - oxygen and all...), and just drive...

By the time I get home, she's exhausted. I'm exhausted. I pull into the garage, hurry up and open the back door, look at Izzy - and there it is - my little Angel with her tear stained face - tired from crying - but flashing me the biggest, gummy grin that would melt Voldemort's heart.

SEE...I'm her hero...all is right in the world...