Nathaniel

Shockey

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May 6, 2009

Road Trip With a Pregnant Woman (Or, the Journey of 1,000 Stops)

We had been on the road for about an hour when she first needed to stop, and I began to feel the weight of a seven-hour road trip with a pregnant wife. “Try feeling the weight of a person on your bladder 24 hours a day and then you can think about complaining” would be her response if I decided to verbalize my frustration. Either way, we were about to embark on a 400-plus mile trip from the East Bay to Lake Arrowhead, which would inevitably feature frequent pee stops.

To ask a pregnant woman to go on an extended road trip is a lot like asking an albino to join you on a Caribbean vacation. To ask this pregnant woman to leave at 3 a.m. is like telling the albino there’s not enough room to pack sunscreen. This was our plight, and if my wife were not one of the most generous people in the history of people – and if we weren’t on the rarely-mentioned baby-on-the-way budget – then I might not have asked this of her. But the situation being what it was, a trip from Northern California to Southern California through Hell seemed our only conceivable option.

I tried to prepare for it. When she agreed to take the trip, she warned me that we’d be stopping a lot, which I figured meant once every hour or two. Three hours into the trip and four pee stops later, it became clear that my estimation was a little off.

If I could take a moment to reflect on a general truth: To be informed about an impending frustration is not the same as being ready. For instance, when a married person tells an engaged person that marriage can be difficult, the engaged person is not suddenly ready to be married. He has merely been warned. And similarly, I had no idea how much I valued driving long distances without stopping until I took this ridiculous trip. My wife’s warning was just that, a warning. It did not somehow prepare me to deal with the frustration of stopping every time we saw a giant yellow shell, or a Chevron, or the number 76, on the side of the highway. This is a life lesson we all might consider learning as early as possible. But then again, it’s only a warning.

By taking the trip, my wife held up her end of the bargain. Unfortunately, I fear that I failed to hold up mine. If my dramatic facial expressions weren’t clear enough, my occasional snide comments certainly were. “So, we’re going for a new record this time, right honey?” “Didn’t we just get back on the highway?” Katey is an angel for not dousing me with bottled water at 80 miles an hour. Then again, she probably would have if she weren’t concerned about the safety of herself and the baby.

The fact that we made it to Lake Arrowhead before 11a.m. is one of the most impressive feats of travel I’ve ever heard of, much less accomplished. It’s a testimony to my ability to drive over the speed limit while avoiding the radar guns, as well as a testimony to my wife’s incredible patience.

The way back was easier, as we broke it up with a night in Santa Barbara, which was quite beautiful. However, we still had a five-hour trip from SB to the East Bay. It only took about an hour before I began stewing again, wondering how inappropriate the following bumper sticker would be: CAUTION: VEHICLE MAKES FREQUENT PEE STOPS.

But it was not until an incident about an hour from the end of the trip that things were finally in their proper perspective. I never considered stopping on my own account, as I knew she would have to go pretty soon anyway. A pee stop for me would only slow us down even more. But wouldn’t you know it, we had been driving for about an hour and a half since our last stop – during which I decided not to go – and at the stop before that, I drank two full cups of coffee. (Look up the “Madonna Inn.” It’s something to behold.) All of a sudden, I realized that my bladder was human and I had to go like the proverbial racehorse. We passed a rest area and the voice in my head was pleading for her to notice it. We passed big yellow shell signs, am pms, 76s and Chevrons without a peep from my wife. She had suddenly acquired an iron bladder.

I was about to burst, but my resolve (pride/fear of embarrassment and endless jibes) gave me no relief. Finally, as I was mere seconds from caving, miracles came true. “Honey, I think I have to pee soon.” I would have wrenched the wheel to the right in order to catch the first possible off-ramp, but it was too close. I calmly took the next exit, rolled my eyes and found relief.

The trip was not ideal, but it was a learning experience. Among other things, I learned that it may be worth it to extract an airfare budget from the baby-on-the-way budget.

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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