Confessions of a Reckless Mommy

Until he was about 6 months old, Boodge HATED his carseat. When I put him in there he would scream blue murder for the duration of the trip until he was in my arms again. It was the kind of screaming that makes new parents feel like heroin addicts who need the next fix (so I imagine). My heart would pound, I would sweat, and my eyes would dart to the rear-view mirror constantly, watching the red face of my screaming babe. He would cry so hard I was afraid he would choke on his own saliva. I could think of nothing else but getting him soothed again, as soon as possible.

It made me reckless. I ran yellow lights, I sped through city streets, I honked at drivers who took a little too long to make a turn. My full attention was in no way on the road. I remember thinking that if I got pulled over, it would not likely be very sympathetic to a cop that I was reckless because my baby was crying. Endangering your child in a motor vehicle because they're crying? Not really excusable. And I'm not making excuses, but I can't be the only one who's done this either. That crying makes a mother crazy.

Flash forward 2 years, and I am driving recklessly for another, even less excusable reason. I don't want him to fall asleep. Car trips over 20 minutes have to be carefully timed because if he's anywhere within 1 hour of naptime, he will doze off. Lately, he won't make the transfer to the bed at naptime, he'll just wake up refreshed and ready to go. So I don't get my break that day, and by 5:00 Boodge is a whining, clinging, tired mess. That scenario is something I avoid if possible.

In the past, I've tried to do things like drive with the windows open and the music blasting, or I have reached an arm back to shake him periodically when I catch him dozing off. But I try not to take my hands off the wheel and eyes off the road, because it really isn't safe to get so distracted, and anyway, those efforts are usually futile. The best thing to do is just get him home before it's too late.

Yesterday morning we drove out to a nursery half an hour away to buy supplies to seed the part of lawn that used to be under a pool. We were heading home at 10, and Boodge usually naps at 11ish. It was in the window, for sure. I decided to try to engage him as much as possible. I cranked up the music and told him I was going to try to find "Big Rock Candy Mountain" (it's his current favorite) on the iPod. Then began tracking through all 800 songs without looking at the iPod to find the unlabeled (of many, many unlabeled) song. With each song, I shouted out, "That's not it!" Ridiculous to the outside observer, and not exactly fully engaged driving. Finally, we found a Bob Marley song--and since Boodge likes Bob, we stopped and cruised along.

We were on a country road with an 80km per/hr speed limit. There was very little traffic, and I was going 110, making good time. Then we passed a speed limit sign that said the limit was changing to 60km per/hr. I realized I should slow it down a bit, since I was almost double the speed limit. No sooner had I had that thought than I heard a WHOOP WHOOP, looked in my rear-view mirror, and saw the beige SUV of an undercover cop, lights a-flashing, right behind me.

My stomach lurched and adrenalin flooded my body. I felt immediately ashamed of myself. Pregnant, and with a 2 year old in the car, I'm speeding? How terrible would this cop think I was? I actually sucked in my stomach in the hopes that the officer would not notice the bulge of Peanut. Boodge started insisting "Go!" from the back-seat.

"We can't go yet, buddy. Mommy is getting in trouble from this man." I said, as the cop approached my car.

Right away he wanted to confirm that I lived in Vancouver, which it says on my driver's license. "No, I actually live in Mission."
"How long have you lived there?"
"Since March," I confessed.
"And why haven't you updated your address?"
"I just--it's a pain to go into the insurance office with him," I said, gesturing to Boodge, "and I knew I had to go in September to renew my insurance so I was waiting until then." Lame excuse.
"Ok, you can actually do it online. It's supposed to be updated within 10 days of the move. It's a $109 fine if you don't."

OK...you can't actually do it online. You can change your address, but to update your insurance, which is part of what the fine is for, you have to go in. And appointments of that type with the Boodge usually go the way Sean's and my short banking appointment the other day went:
"So here's the paperwork and you just have to-"
"GO!"
"We can't go yet buddy, it will just be a minute."
"Open the door!" Boodge gets it open and makes to leave.
"Leave the door. You have to stay in here." Sean pulls Boodge onto his lap.
"So, you have to sign it here and-"
"I want Mommy!" I take Boodge.
"Go! I wanna GO!"
"I sign here? Ok. No, Boodge, Mommy needs the pen. Please leave the pen alone. Boodge, leave the pen. Leave it!"

You get the picture. Yes, I could have gone in to do it with Boodge, and dealt with the 15 minutes of inconvenience. I could have gone on a Saturday or at Boodge's naptime, because there truly is nothing I'd rather do when I get some child-free time than take care of administrative details. But I knew I was going to be going by mid-September, so I was waiting to do it all at once. So sue me. Or better yet, fine me $109.

And he did. He fined me $109 for not changing my address, and $135 for speeding (luckily, he clocked me in the 80 zone, not the 60). He knocked it down from $195 because of my good driving record, and maybe because he had sympathy for the woman who was so wigged out by it all she had to call her husband to get their address of 5 months. "Um, hi honey. I'm getting a speeding ticket right now, and the cop wants my new address, and I can't remember it because I'm so freaked out. What is it again?" Sweet Sean, he did his best to make light of it and calm me down. I guess he wanted me to get home alive.

But the truth is, I was upset not about the almost $250 that I just threw down the toilet (though that is very upsetting), but because I was being reckless in the first place. There really is no good reason to speed, pregnant with one child, chauffeuring another one. My children are beyond precious, and as their mother I am indispensable. If anything happened to any one of us, I would never forgive myself. And it's not like I haven't had the thought, again and again, that I shouldn't let Boodge's sleepiness, or whinyness, or whatever, make me drive recklessly. I knew better.

So there you have it. $250 to teach me that I should not let the fact that I'm going to have to deal with a difficult child and not get my break time turn me into an irresponsible mother or someone who neglects administrative details (not that I could ever be cured of the latter). Lesson learned, universe. Thank you, because clearly I wasn't quite getting it on my own.

Still, I'm pretty sure I'm not the only parent out there who is guilty of child-induced recklessness. Driving while parenting is probably as dangerous as driving while talking on your cell phone, or even while intoxicated. Anyone else want to confess? C'mon? Guilt loves company...help me feel like less of a schmuck.