Creating a new life is a privilege. Forcing everyone on the road to care about that life with the same devotion of a fangirl at Comic Con? Also a privilege I’ll be claiming.
And so, our “Baby on Board” sign. Behold: the most revered text ever suction-cupped to a window.
This sign is a reminder of everyone’s sacred duty to my offspring. He’s counting on you to survive to adulthood and swim class—before the good parking spots are taken.
Transporting our child is cosmic poetry.
He is the leading man, while other children are unlisted townspeople.
He is Wagyu in the clearance bin of life.
That reality makes everyone better drivers. Full stop. Especially while merging onto a highway.
There’s no magical thinking here, only cool, hard facts. Drivers understand we’ve gifted them the next Kool-Aid Man.
Or, at a minimum, Anderson Cooper.
The future of humanity sits in the backseat of this Kia Sorento, defecating in his overalls and screaming for applesauce.
Back there when I didn’t use my blinker? The rhythmic clicking disturbs my child. That sacrifice was for him. Therefore, I’m your moral superior.
Before honking at us, consider that any horn my child didn’t authorize will be flagged as childhood trauma. May that guilt follow you the rest of your life and into the next.
Meanwhile, I shall keep all my windows down, blasting “5 Little Monkeys,” and you will be grateful.
A parent who donated a kidney to their kid? They can eat my dust.
Taking up both lanes at a zipper merge isn’t because I’m an asshole. It’s because my child can’t zip his own jacket yet. If you attempt? Immediate forfeiture of good karma points.
If he cannot zipper, then neither can you.
Other drivers? We inspire them to be better humans—patient, kind, and to put others first. At a four-way stop, you will wave others through like you’re auditioning “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” for my child.
My child is already a muse to the masses. Statues of him in his car seat are being cast as we speak.
The world is full of political ineptitude and endlessly terrible biopics. But we are a Happy Meal toy everyone actually wants. Someday, when children study this era, those of us with a “Baby on Board” sign will be revered. We anticipate our own federal holiday. A commemorative coin is inevitable. Parades in major cities are not out of the question.
Get into the right lane and the right side of history.
Remove your hat and bend the knee.
As you pass me in the right-hand lane while I marinate in the left (my child’s favorite), salute me. Ideally, with more than one finger. He is advanced—and he will be counting.