self portrait Saturday

I am afraid of driving.

I don't like anything about it.  I don't feel like I'm zipping along in control made for speed independent or any of the other things people say they love about driving.  Especially in the city.  I hate it.

But L got home early this morning after working graveyard shift at the grocery store next door and he really needed to sleep.  Which meant that I'm single parenting for the day - possibly the entire weekend - and kiddo needs to get to a birthday party at the beach.  Oh god.  I'm driving.  What about the traffic!  What about crossing intersections!  And the twisty road down to the shore!  And where the heck will I put this boat of a station wagon!

We went early (9:30?) so the traffic would be light and the parking spaces open and Little N could have some time to play before the all the kids descended on the beach.  We enjoyed a good four hours there, actually skipping the party because Little N was so happy where we were.  Which is ok.  Then we hauled our stuff back to the wagon, started up, and headed for home.

Every little piece of the trip filled me with anxiety, even on the return home.  Don't bump the cars parked next to us.  Back up slowly and cautiously so we don't get nailed by some one coming through the lot.  Or squash a kid.  Slow down to turn left across the intersection.  And now up the twisty turny hill.  Another left turn.  A crosswalk.  A bus.  Good god not another left turn.  Finally, pull the car in tight to the curb so we don't come out to a smashed bed of metal later.  It's a lot of concentration and checking in with my sanity.

I did it.  We were totally safe and successful.  I could probably do it again, too, maybe tomorrow...