Why would a dad's blog discuss an interstate? Because when that dad lives in the National Capital Region and wants to travel south to visit friends, he has little choice but to travel on the locally infamous I-95. I've travelled on many interstates: up the west coast on I-5, across the south and south west on I-10, and numerous others all over the interior. What sets I-95 apart is that it's the first one I've travelled as a father, and that changes EVERYTHING!
A little background is in order. This past weekend, we enjoyed a relaxing couple days with long time friends in Newport News. This was everyone's first time meeting our little one, and everything was just dandy as the weekend drew to a close and the short, 3 hour return drive home approached. Everything should have been fine; I had a tummy full of Greek food and a cooler full of Korean food. The kiddo had been pleasant all morning, so why would I assume things would go south as we were driving north?
If you've never been in the DC area, understanding traffic patterns is a key to emotional and spiritual survival. There are certain times when you don't head into DC, certain times you don't head away, others that are free to travel anywhere, and times you should just stay home. We had already braved a south-bound drive on Friday, which is a no-no. Heading back into the DC area on Sunday is also a bad idea, but we knew that heading out and expected a little waiting and slow travel. We weren't prepared for what happened.
Driving was fine for the first hour, and then the munchkin had break down number one. No big deal, just pull off, change a diaper, down a bottle, and we're off again. That's how it normally works, so that's what we do. Twenty minutes later, we have another kiddo-crisis in the backseat and because of traffic, we pull into the shoulder in the median. It's not like traffic was moving at a dangerous speed. So we repeat the first stop, and we both star to realize that our little girl has had just about enough of being in the car seat. Finally, we head out again, for about thirty more minutes before the next onslaught of tears. This time, I decide to stop at Dairy Queen so that we can all get a tasty treat.
I look at the GPS and realize we're three hours in and just over half way home. Not looking good. We head out again an hour later when we think the sprout has settled down. Silly dad, tricks are definitely for kids. As soon as we got back on I-95, she had a full melt down. Tears flowing, bottom lip all the way out, vocal chords working at max capacity. I and the wife realize this isn't going to get better, and we can't keep stopping, so we trudge on. The wife survived with a set off ear plugs and a lot of patience in the back seat. I searched my head for my happy place and settled on gritting my teeth and squeezing the steering wheel as hard as possible. Twenty minutes from home, she falls asleep just as I consider jumping from the car into the middle lane of I-95.
In the end, I salute you I-95 for breaking my spirits. Creeping traffic for 57 miles combined with a wailing midget resulted in 2:45 trip turning into a 6 hour trip. What I take away is that all travel should be in the middle of the night, when most normal people are sleeping, including my now voice-amplified daughter.
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