Traffic Terror

Rosie is Number 1!

The Privilege of Parenting

Ouiji Board Nights

I'm a Believer

Dating Disasters

Bump Up Your Style

Dreams Come True

Queen Victoria's Toupee

Daddy Issues

Simple Needs

Babymoon Bonanza

Fluent in Rosie

Difficult Decisions

Push It

Mr. Roboto

In Da Club

One Size Doesn't Fit All

Epic Moments

Something to Chew On

Bye Bye Baby

An Amazing Journey

The Nanny Olympics

Great News

You Got Served

Gagging the Children

The Root of the Problem

Culture Clash

Phobias and Leather Bandeau Tops

Au Naturel

Edgy and Outdoorsy

Serious Stuff

Lisa's Diary

Fashion Rocks

Scared Like the Rest of Us

Crazy as Usual

Serving and Gagging

Rosie Pope, Negotiator

Mina's Diary

Back to Reality

Holy War

Traffic Terror

Daron relates the harrowing tale of being stuck in traffic with a pregnant, bathroom-needing Rosie.

I know there is nothing more generic when talking about LA than mentioning the unbelievable weather and the horrific traffic. But please understand that I’m very generic. When surrounded by such heaven-like surroundings (palm trees, weather, beautiful people, etc.) I actually felt like I was in hell for part of our last LA trip. When heading out to LA for the Rosie Pope Maternity Santa Monica store Grand Opening, I truly expected every second to be heaven-like. I should’ve known to exclude all time spent driving. Here’s what I just went through:

Rosie and I have a business dinner in Orange County and it takes us 2 hours and 20 minutes -- one-way -- from Santa Monica. Now, I love spending time with Rosie and the over two hours of fun car-ride conversation isn’t a problem. The problem is her bladder. She is fairly preggers and therefore has the bladder of a 5-year-old. How do I know this is an issue? I’ve been caught in this trap a number of times through Rosie’s last three pregnancies.

It is 74 degrees outside, every motorist on the road looks like a movie star, the palm trees glisten in the setting sunlight. Heaven, right?

We’re not moving. Rosie’s bladder is angry. I’m sweating. Every answer is wrong as we inch along. Every time I bring up the traffic, Rosie answers with the same question of, “When are we going to exit and find the nearest bathroom?” My anxious head-turns around the car aren’t helping either and my serious question of “How about this empty bag of Lays potato chips?” is met with a fiery glare. This must be hell. I’m trapped and most of all, I feel terrible that she has to go so bad.

I apologize for being generic, but the hell-like sensation that the LA traffic created for me was extremely tough to deal with. I don’t know how LA folks handle it every day. How can such heaven-like surroundings co-exist with such hell-like transit?