After a white van crashed into the back of my car while I was stopped at a red light (and I saw him not slow down in my rear view mirror with not a single thing I could do) I became a bit…vocal in regards to other people’s driving – whether I was sat in the backseat or not.
Following a trip to India several years ago, I thought I had come back largely cured of any anxiety – being near death at least 14 times every hour seems to do that to a person. Not even joking. Check this out.
And that example was actually a pretty sedate journey.
While I accept I sometimes still make helpful suggestions when people (ok, mainly Mark) are driving, I think Freya must have been an angry New York City cabbie in a past life.
I’m not sure whether it’s just a symptom of being two but there is So.Much.Rage.
The thing she hates most is being stuck in traffic – even for a minute. She will throw her arms in the air and shout: “Why isn’t that van moving?” Or just “Come on!”
At green lights she yells: “Go, go, go!”
She tells Mark to slow down (I accept that’s on me) and me to go faster (that’s on him) and when her dad powered over a hill (or as much of a hill as you get in Norwich) Freya said: “Argh, hold my hand mummy, I’m scared.” Even though she clearly wasn’t. I might have laughed at that one and now every time we go over that hill she says it.
The thing is, neither Mark nor I are that much of a backseat driver so I’m really not sure where it’s all coming from.
I can only hope that by the time she can actually drive she’s got it all out of her system.
And that she doesn’t mysteriously learn any swear words in the meantime.