Does Road Rage Cross the Placenta?

This morning I had the pleasure of driving into work.  We have a three hour intensive birthing class tonight so Kayla wouldn’t be able to have her normal walks, so I brought her to the office with me today.  

I’ve heard that babies can hear their mother’s voice while they are in utero, and they can recognize that voice as well as words/phrases/songs that they have heard frequently while gestating....  Given that, I feel lucky that I don’t drive to work more often.  Last night, I thought that it would be a good thing -- my music, a little car-dancing, a guaranteed seat, but this morning’s drive in quickly shattered my joy.

Between traffic on the BQE and the southern portion of the FDR, the designed-by-minions-of-evil Manhattan end of the Battery Tunnel, yellow cabs driving with wild abandon across multiple lanes of traffic, trucks driving as if the BQE were some sort of Mad-Max style arena, and other drivers using the right lane as a parking lane …I was white-knuckled with rage and frustration.

I tried to listen to some of my “happy music,” but it wasn’t enough.  Even the beach-bum vibe of Jimmy Buffett wasn’t enough to cut through my rage.  I tried to sing along with the songs but I kept having Turret’s-like outbursts, often mid-song.  So, this is kind of what the Monkey heard:

I really do appreciate the fact you’re sitting here, Your voice sounds so wonderful, but your face don’t look to clear, So, barmaid, bring a pitcher, another round of brew.  Honey, why don’t we get drunk …WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU [redacted expletive]! FOR GOD’S SAKE, LEARN TO USE YOUR [redacted] SIGNALS!

and

Cheeseburger in paradise! Heaven on earth with an onion slice! Not too particular, not too precise … SWEET MARY MOTHER O’GOD, WHAT THE [redacted]?! YOU, SIR, ARE A COMPLETE [redacted, sort of sounds like juice-bug]!

Once I escaped the bit of the FDR that was a parking-lot, I switched to some Billy Joel (or, as we refer to it: The Music of Joel) when I realized that some of my road-rage may be hormotional … as I started to get choked up listening to Piano Man.  In my head, I just kept thinking that it was so terribly sad that all these people were so lonely and their dreams and hearts had been broken and wasn’t Billy Joel based in NYC/Long Island? Ohmygod, NYC has been crushing hearts and dreams for so many years! It’s like some sort of monster that feeds on misery! Noooo!

In fact, I probably would have started weeping except then some jerk in a taxi cut me off and I went back into rage-mode. (Sing me a song, you’re the WORST [redacted] DRIVER I’VE EVER SEEN! WHAT THE HELL KIND OF MANEUVER WAS THAT?)


Like I said, it's a good thing that I don’t drive in the city every day.  I’d hate to think what the Monkey would hear...