New Hampshire is really, really far away from Maryland.
A nine hour drive according to the sat-nav is more like eleven when you take into account breaks for food, coffee and gas.
An eleven hour drive quickly lengthens when your infant son develops a tummy-bug on the day of the journey.
Vomit runs off Ikea painting bibs like water off a duck's back. This is good in a rest stop (it just falls to the floor); this is not good in the car (it pools in the car seat).
Dunkin Donuts make pretty good donuts but terrible coffee.
Terrible coffee is still coffee on a twelve hour drive in a car with a puking infant.
A tummy bug is over, not when the vomit stops coming out, but when the nappies return to normal.
When your son vomits over your shoes, it is a good thing to have washable shoes, like Crocs. Except when your Crocs are the ones with holes in them, because then the vomit pools in your shoes.
The place you absolutely do not want your son to vomit on is the pile of clothes you have just washed yesterday's vomit off.
When he smiles and calls you 'gagga' none of the above matters one jot.
