Ferberizing, Stage III, and a brush with death

Last night was NOT tough. The little man is starting to get with the sleep program, although with the re-emergence of the pacifier. The first night took 2 hours, the second night took about an hour-and-a-half, and last night wasn't quite a full hour of crying. That's not to say the crying was any less intense, but it definitely took less time to get him to sleep.

During the heat of it, I went outside and stripped carpeting out of the Miata, to prep it for the rollbar installation. Nothing clears the head like good hard work in the outdoors, especially if it gets you away from a wailing baby.

I've been sending Amanda away every night this week, since she's more bothered by the crying (not angered: just bothered; she feels like she's neglecting him if she doesn't attend to him), and I'm hopeful that there won't be many more nights of sleeplessness for the little guy.

So my near brush with death...

Every morning I travel I-95 South through the city. There is one area where there are 2 exits and 2 entrances in a very short span, and this area is always congested. Usually, I fly by in the left lane, since that one's generally clear.

This morning, though, I was leisurely driving in the middle lane, when this guy just started merging on top of me. Unfortunately, because modern car-makers seem to believe that the horn is irrelevant, my horn buttons are so small that I couldn't find them in the panic, and I had to rely on a hearty shove of the brake pedal. Alastair's bottles, my lunch, and everything else that wasn't fastened down went shooting forward. By the time my thumbs found the horn button, the guy was fully in the lane.

I let him know what I thought of his maneuver, and he gave me a semi-apologetic wave before merging into the left lane. On top of a motorcycle.

This little stretch of highway bends to the right, and the cyclist was run off into the shoulder, where he hit the jersey-wall, bounced up in the air, hit the jersey wall again, bounced again, and regained his balance.

The merging madman swung back in front of me again, although I was expecting it this time. He gave another semi-apologetic wave, rubbed his head as if in disbelief of what he'd done, and vanished into the right lane.

I couldn't believe it: I'd just seen a motorcycle get airborne twice off a jersey wall, recover both times, and ride on as if nothing had happened. I caught up with the rider a little later and gave him a big thumbs-up for his composure. He gave me a nod and rode on, occasionally glancing at the side of his bike to make sure it was still intact.

The merging madman was an elderly fellow who was clearly not focused on driving his car.

Scary stuff. I was fully prepared to stop the car and start picking up pieces of motorcycle man, and was really disappointed that the cop I saw 1/4 miles ahead wasn't there to witness the mayhem. We might have had one less terrible driver off the road.