Road Warriors

This weekend Rosie and I embarked on our first Mommy-Daughter road trip. We headed north to New York City (Brooklyn to be specific) to visit Heather. After Rosie's one-year appointment (a month late, of course) at 10:30 on Friday, we planned to hit the pavement and make our way

out of the city.

I was a little apprehensive about getting on the road immediately after Rosie got vaccines and blood work done, but in true Rosie fashion after brief post-needle crying spells, she was over it and back to her cheery self. (For those interested, Rosie weighed in at 16 pounds 9 ounces, 29 inches long. She's still not on the percentile charts for weight, but the doctor's not worried at all.)

So, we left D.C. about 1:15 after her appointment and a brief pit stop at home to eat lunch and change her diaper. I had my GPS in tow. Since it was one of my Mother's Day gifts, I think it was appropriate that it guided our first Mother-Daughter road trip.

Because I wouldn't have anyone in the back seat to feed and entertain Rosie, I tried to think through every possible distraction I could pack up front with me and pass back to her at opportune moments. As such, I organized the passenger seat with three bags: dry food bag (Cheerios, etc.), toy/book bag, and cooler with milk and cheese. I was also armed with about 10 children's CDs to accompany the pleasant and confident voice of my GPS friend. I filled the console with toll cash that would be easy to grab. I placed the diaper bag within easy reach behind me in case I needed to dig through that quickly. After getting Rosie settled in with the first bottle of the trip, we took off. It was smooth sailing for about the first 10 minutes.

And then we hit the traffic. Well, the first of many traffic jams, actually. Thank goodness for my ingenious (if I do say so myself) system. Rosie would start to fuss or scream out in boredom, and I would immediately pull out a toy or book and pass it back to her. In the rear view mirror, I would see her tiny little hand shoot up and snatch it away. I'd hear the happy babble of an entertained baby and turn up the music so we could jam to the sixth version of Wheels on the Bus or Three Blind Mice. After about 15 or 20 minutes, I'd see the toy come flying out of the car seat and land on the floor. Okay, time for a book. I'd hand her back Go, Dog, Go! Together, we'd practice saying "go," "go," "go" (which was convenient because it was the same wish I had for the current traffic jam)!

When books or toys were immediately rejected (bouncing off the back window after being propelled with toddler force), I knew it was time for the food bag. Bring on the cheerios (or "o's" as she had down by the end of our drive.

"Would you like a Cheerio, Rosie?"

"Oooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

"O-kiedokie," I'd reply with no one to appreciate the pun.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Oooooooo-kay, here comes another one," I'd say while twisting my arm over my head into the proper Cheerio-grab spot above her head but within her reach. (No wonder I had a tweaked back by the time we got there.)

When Cheerios were no longer the desired answer, I would pass back another bottle. By the time we pulled into the New Jersey travel mart after four hours of driving (and still two hours from our destination), the back seat looked like the disheveled habitat of a milkaholic. It was strewn with empty bottles, fallen toys, gummed books, Cheerio bits stuck to everything in sight. But, hey, we weren't trying to win any clean car contests. We were road warriors. Survivors of the Jersey Turnpike. Honda heroes. Brooklyn-bound babes. And we had a dirty diaper. Well, one of us did anyway. Which is why we were at the travel mart, a rest stop sort of place but with a gas station, food court, and restrooms all in one place.

Rosie and I peeled ourselves out of the car and headed inside with the diaper bag. Little did I know that this little gem of a place would pose our greatest road challenge so far. If parenting were like Girl Scouts, I would have earned a badge for braving the bathroom. Before I had kids, I judged places like Macy's, Target, and restaurants by their service, by their product. I loved Macy's shoe department. Target's home goods can't be beat. Restaurants were evaluated by their menus. No longer. These places have under bellies that you don't know about until you have to do the dirty deed of changing a poopy diaper in their restrooms. Only then do you really know these places. And let me tell you, you never look at these places the same. Well, that's what I can say about the New Jersey travel mart. Love the convenience of one-stop-gas-and-food-shopping. But whoever designed the bathrooms has never changed a poopy diaper - or any diaper for that matter.

Picture a long, skinny hallway with weary, full-bladder travelers hopping from foot to foot as they wait their turns. Now picture that randomly cut out of the wall in this skinny, packed hallway is a diaper changing station. Right in the middle of traffic. There's no easy trash can. No hand sanitizer. No place to set anything down except your child. So, there I am trying to block Rosie's bottom with my body so people aren't staring at her and her "business" (if you know what I mean). I'm trying to keep her still so she doesn't reach up and grab the woman's purse that's six inches from her feet. Then there's the business of trying to get the other diaper on her while holding the nasty diaper and keep my diaper bag off the gross-out floor. And all the while bored people are staring at me as I bump into them while doing this Olympic sport maneuvering. Sigh.

Once we'd finished that little ordeal, I headed back outside with Rosie to give her a little time to run around in the grass. This also proved problematic. Apparently, Jersey travel marts don't make the best playgrounds for toddlers who like to pick up everything and put it in their mouths. Cigarette butts, broken glass, and other don't-look-too-closely-you-don't-want-to-know paraphernalia don't make good playground material.

So, instead of play time, we headed back to the car. The rest of the trip went much more smoothly. After a slight hiccup (GPS telling me to exit on a closed ramp - whoops), we found our way to Heather's apartment and proceeded to have a fabulous weekend.

Shopping, walks, play grounds, and picnics made for the perfect girls weekend. Heather was an awesome host, and Rosie loved all the attention (and the stuffed animal Auntie Heather bought her). As you can see, she liked taking her new friends for walks in the stroller.

She has a Brooklyn fan club and was pronounced by more than one shopkeeper as the cutest kid of the day. Ha! One very intense woman told me that she "read babies very well" and she could tell me that Rosie had an extremely high IQ and would someday be a writer. I tried to look as earnest as possible as I accepted her "reading."

Rosie also enjoyed walking in Heather's building and pushing the button for the elevator!

Our drive home was much less eventful for the first 3.75 hours. Then 15 miles from home, Rosie decided to see what would happen if she put her whole fist in her mouth. Needless to say I had to drive the rest of the way home with all the windows down and take her straight to the bathtub when we got back to the house. I think she just wanted to make sure we'd really earned our new titles: Road Warriors.

Next time we'll get matching temporary tattoos.