Crying in Cars With Babies

We were 6 hours in on our return trip from Sydney to Melbourne when He started to grumble. It was a slow build at first. A disgruntled 10-month-old, uncertain of where He was, why he was there and understandably annoyed with having to face backwards when all the fun seemed to be happening in the forward-facing seats of the car listening to My Dad Wrote a Porno (what! He’s 10 months old! It’s not like he knows what a taint is any way or how to even put it to good use!)

 
But within minutes’ whatever revelry – Nay- comradery we as new parents were experiencing in the front seats of our family-sized SUV was about to be threatened to within an inch of its life.

‘He needs his dummy’ JK postured.

Incy wincy spider-

‘He spat it out’ I declared.

Climbed up the water spout-

‘Well put it back in’

Down came the rain-

I distorted my body into a position I’ve coined ‘the early onset arthritis maker’.

And washed poor Spidey out –

No dummy could be found.

Out came the sunshine –

‘I can’t find it.’

And dried up all the rain –

‘What do you mean?’

So Incy Wincy Spider climbed up the spout again.

‘Do you need subtitles? I said I can’t find it.’

(*in rounds this time) Incy Wincy –

‘I’m driving’

Incy –

‘And?’

Spider climbed up the water spout

‘I can’t read and drive at the same time!’

Spider climbed up  –

‘Oh but you can direct and drive at the same time?’

Down came the rain and –

‘Yep’

Down came the –

‘Fine.’

Washed poor Spidey out –

I twist around again, this time certain I won’t be able to do stairs ever again.

Washed poor –

‘There are no dummies. He’s destroyed all and any evidence that they even existed before this car ride started! He’s a sociopath. A tiny sociopath.’

Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain –

‘He’s a baby Lou, get a grip.’

Out came the sunshine –

‘Well they’re not THERE, THEY’RE NOT ANYWHERE! HE’S PLAYING US AGAINST EACH OTHER!’

2 hours later…

(*in a strong almost mocking French accent) Incy Wincy spider –

Having calmed down somewhat I was now in the driver’s seat, while John this time was battling Field of Screams’ and it was at this point, after non-stop screaming for no apparent reason other than ‘cause’ I finally started to get Punky Brewster’s mum – a much vilified and maligned woman from TV history or was she perhaps a misunderstood hero-mum who finally took a stand, said enough-is-enough?

I remember with great concern watching Punky Brewster as a child. Here was a young girl, left in a supermarket carpark by her mother, only to find solace and care with a retired elderly-yet-to-be-vetted old man whose apartment she broke into in a desperate attempt for shelter, food and safety. While I loved the show I never understood why more wasn’t done about her horrible, neglectful, monster of a mother – but now as I drove along ‘a google shortcut’ taking me to the middle of nowhere, I momentarily longed for the days of binge drinking and morning after pills.

Climbed up the water spout –

‘Maybe he needs a bottle?’ I suggested.

Down came the rain and washed –

Milk splattered all over the back seat.

Poor Spidey out –

‘Nup, that didn’t work’

Out came the sunshine and dried up the all the rain –

‘Food?’

So Incy Wincy Spider climbed up the spout again.

‘We have some leftover pizza. I’ll try that’

(* through the heavy weight of tears this time) Incy Wincy Spider –

‘Make sure you pick out the olives. He doesn’t like them!

Climbed up the water spout –

‘Nup, that didn’t work’

Down came the rain and washed –

‘You don’t work!’

And washed poor Spidey out –

‘He’s your son!’

Out came the sunshine –

‘You mean our son!’

And dried up all the rain –

‘Your son is possessed!  Can’t you see what he’s doing? He’s trying to destroy us.’

So Incy Wincy –

‘When he’s like this he’s your son. We had a deal remember?’

I hate this song! I hate this f**king song!!!!!!

‘Na-uh’

‘Yes ah-uh’

‘Get out of my SON YOU DEMON! WHAT DO YOU WANT????!!!!’

3 hours later…

(*with the aching jaw of a speed addict) Incy Wincy Spider –

Pitch black, raining and with tears streaming down all our faces now I pulled into a near empty service station. The outline of Melbourne glistening on the horizon, so close, yet so far…

‘You’re an idiot’

And then without saying a word, we both jumped out of the car, pacing around it, taking deep breaths and cheap jabs at each other.

‘No, you’re an idiot’

And then silence.

Not the silence you get from slamming a car door, locking the noise within. No, actual silence.

Could it be?

We opened this car door with as much hope as a virgin at the schoolies…

And…

He was asleep.

Our little angel was asleep.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. A f**king miracle.

We looked at each other.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

‘I’m sorry I snapped before’

‘No I’m sorry.’

We hoped back in the car, our relationship restored, our family still intact.

We even picked a new podcast for the last one hour left of our trip.

But then suddenly the silence was shattered –

Incy Wincy Spider climbed up the water spout…

 

 

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Man it’s hot in Melbourne.

It’s really hot in Melbourne at the moment. You might have figured this out from the barrage of Tweets from Melbournites proclaiming it to be ‘f**king hot.’

A heat wave in any major city  is a great test to see how your fellow residents might react in say an armageddon.

The Family

Have you seen or read The Road?  If you have it will give you a slight indication of the harrowing desperation a family displays in a heat wave. If you haven’t, someone eats a baby to survive and the way I saw a mother push a young Goth out the way for the last remaining bottle of coconut water at the 7/11 I thought yes; she’d eat a baby if she had to. Not hers, but she’d definitely have no problem eating someone else’s. When the Goth girl dared to ask why she was entitled to the last bottle, the mother let out a hiss and in her greatest Walking Dead moment spat back at her ‘I have children. They need water. There’s a heat wave you know.’

Now look no ones saying that breeders aren’t a necessary part of the human race, but in that one moment this woman basically told this young girl that her families life was more valuable than hers and her black clothed brethren and what for? For the naturally occurring electrolytes in coconut water, that’s what. It’s a jungle out there.

I’d like to say this was the end of it but while waiting in line to top up my Myki card, her husband, short of a hand gun and the face stubble that the only comes with the end of days, was holding the line hostage as he made sure their family had all their supplies and if he wasn’t satisfied he’d send one of this own children back into the isles to grab another essential apocalyptic item – like low fat cheddar or the unsalted cashews. The clerk was doing his best to reassure the rest of us in the 10 deep line that we’d be served shortly, that we would survive, but we all knew the truth, we were stuck while this kids figured out what Magnum’s they wanted and as a result we would die in a 7/11 whose air-conditioning had broken.

Our only relief came when a woman scraping 90 turned to the mother and said ‘I waited so long for your kids to decide on an ice-cream my catheter started to leak. You’re standing in my urine.’

Transport

For those of you that don’t know, the reason you often find lines of people at 7/11’s these days isn’t because of their Slurpee’s but because about 2 years ago our state government decided it made no sense to be able to buy a ticket to ride on a train/bus or tram or the actual train/bus or tram you were hoping to ride on so you have to either pay online and wait at least 24 hours for your card to top-up or head into a 7/11. The State Government also decided around the same time that it no longer wanted Melbourne to bare the title of ‘Most Liveable City’ and instead would now compete for the title of ‘Most Leavable City’.

You think I joke? The other day I watched as a Customer Service Officer (not sure what their role is other than to tell people they can’t buy a ticket to ride) asked a partially blind woman with a walking stick to get off the tram and top up her Myki card at the shop across the road. Yep…

So in a heat wave if your travelling colleagues don’t beat someone to death by the time they get on a tram, that in and of itself is an amazing feat of self-control.

On the tram I soon realised that the men of Melbourne had all decided on mass that because they have cocks that meant they should take up more room than usual. With legs spread, displaying sweaty groins it’s easy to be intimated, but fuck, it was fucking hot. I was going to sit down. I found a seat next to a guy that if asked would have taken two extra stools just to sit his balls on. My first instinct would be to apologetically sit next to him, half a bum cheek on what remained of a seat for two, but no, not this time. I asked him to move over to allow me to take up the room allocated for me. He told me he was hot. I said ‘yes, that’s often the problem with heat waves.’

He farted next to me for the rest of the trip, on purpose. It was decided – I would sell him for meat and than donate his skull as a sex toy to a jail.

Mania through lack of sleep.

When we got our new house I’m pretty sure the first words we spoke were ‘oh my god, it’s air-conditioning. Fuck yeah!’ If anything we couldn’t wait till sweet, sweet summer where we would be able lie in undies in front of Foxtel and occasionally glance at each other, smile and say ‘fuck yeah, air con.’

That’s what should have happened. Instead last night consisted of wearing nothing but undies, yes, but also screaming at each other ‘don’t touch me! I don’t want your body heat! Get away from me!. For the love of god don’t touch me!’

Seems our air-con is actually a swamp maker. It works on the principle of blowing hot air into cramped spaces, thus ensuring the occupants of the house intermittently pass out from something I’ve coined ‘thick air.’ ‘Thick air’ leads to heat wave mania, where suddenly the thought of standing in a puddle of leaked catheter urine is the only option to lower one’s body temperature.

And just like that, we become animals. When you honestly think that pissing on each other might be the key to a cool nights sleep, humanity has lost all hope.

 

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