Until recently, I never really understood those car signs that say "baby on board". I used to think they were appeals to others drivers to exercise increased care in the vicinity of the baby vehicle. And as such I considered them at best a bit pious and, at worst, about as realistic as the New Seekers' ambition, circa 1973, to teach the world to sing.
Another possibility was that the slogan was designed simply to share good news with other motorists, in the same way that some cars have stickers saying "Jesus Saves". In that sense, perhaps the signs were an invitation to forget how bad the traffic was, for a moment, and reflect instead on the mystery of life. "A child is born!" was the joyful message from the car in front. Probably while we were stuck in this tailback.
But it suddenly hit me the other day that I'd got it all wrong. The "baby on board" sign is not an appeal to other drivers, at all; it's a warning. It's a responsible act by civic-minded parents who realise that, not having slept properly for weeks or even months, they are a danger to themselves and other road users. The sign's message is: "Increase your braking distance now! I'm liable to do anything." As a parent myself, this should have been obvious. Luckily, I've always been a model driver, with an impeccable safety record and a religious adherence to the rules of the road, and if my insurance company is reading this, I hope to see these facts reflected in my next premium. But even I appreciate how parenthood can affect your capacity to operate a mechanically propelled vehicle with due care and diligence.
I would also point out, if the insurance company is still reading, that my kids are aged three and two, so the whole sleep-deficit thing is not a problem. Except for isolated incidents such as when I was woken this morning at 5 a.m. by a Barney book being waved in front of me and the order to "read this, Daddy!" But that only happens several times a week. Plus, I commute by bike now. It's quicker than driving, anyway, and the fresh air helps keep me awake.
But to get back to my point. Even assuming you're fully alert, having children in the car exposes you to challenges not covered by the standard driving test. Take this simple example:
You're approaching a busy junction where you intend to turn right. You have indicated and moved into the right-hand lane, having checked in your mirror that it is safe to do so. When a gap occurs in oncoming traffic, you begin your turn. And at that very moment you hear the unmistakable sound of your child preparing to throw up all over the back seat. The correct procedure - as my wife sometimes reminds me - is to never mind what's going on in the back, just WATCH THE ROAD! And the fact is, it's too late do anything about the situation behind you anyway. Yet it takes superhuman mental strength not to look round, to see how bad things are.
Emissions of all kinds are a hazard with babies, but noise emissions are the worst. The decibel levels small children achieve are frightening in open space; but in a family car, with surround sound, they can seriously impair your driving decisions. You might be planning to drive straight ahead, for example, but if the baby has been howling for several minutes you can often find yourself thinking: "I know, I'll drive into this wall instead. Maybe that'll stop the noise."
The problems increase with two children. Even with a buffer zone between child seats, border disputes are inevitable. And the difficulty for the driver attempting to keep both eyes on the road ahead is that it's impossible to judge the seriousness of any incident behind from the victim's noise level. There is no sliding scale with siblings: you get the same screams for a minor territorial row as for a full-scale murder attempt.
This was dramatically illustrated during the week when I was driving the kids to the crΦche for the Halloween party. Roisin opted to dress as an angel; so, in the interests of balance, we made her little brother a devil. In fairness to Patrick, he was only trying to get into character on the way to the party.
And the fact that one of Roisin's wings was dangling in the buffer zone was a recipe for trouble.
Yet it struck me then how difficult it is for even a model driver to concentrate, with a struggle between good and evil going on in the back. This is an extreme example, obviously. But even so, maybe it's time to get one of those signs.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie
