Weeks after Lily was born, I was terrified to pack that little baby into the car and drive to a neighborhood about five minutes away to visit my good friend Heather, who also had just had a baby. Postpartum depression will do things like that to you. I remember texting Marc that I was thinking about taking the baby on a little outing and he was really excited for me. It was a big deal for me to walk outside, much less drive the baby anywhere.
But I did it. And kept doing it. Because I knew I had to.
And then it seems we did nothing but drive. Her and me. On the beltline around the city. In the middle of the night. Over and over.
She usually screamed for about ten miles, then passed out from the exhaustion of it all. And I’d drive and take deep breaths and drive some more.
I remember fantasizing about taking Lily on a road trip someday. When she wasn’t bellowing and I wasn’t in shock. A grand mother-daughter adventure.
Five years later, we’re finally getting our opportunity.
My best friend is getting married this weekend in Ohio (600 miles away!) and it didn’t work out for our whole family to go. Marc suggested I take Lily. Flights were expensive and the train took too ridiculously long. So we’ll drive, I thought. Lily and me.
For weeks, I’ve been planning. Downloading travel apps, putting together a surprise car kit for her, making packing lists, plotting our route, buying fun snacks.
I checked that the first aid kit was stocked, and I loaded a cooler with water and even more snacks. Marc changed the oil, got the tires rotated and scrubbed the car (inside and out).
Lily and I took off Friday morning.
Our adventure was amazing. Truly. Even with bad traffic and an unexpected overnight detour in West Virginia.
And as much fun as we’re having here in Ohio, I’ll be excited for the drive home.
Me and my road dog.
We got this.