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And Away We Go!
I have promised you a detailed description of our trip across the ocean, one adult, two infants who think they are adults. It actually could not have gone better but it certainly wasn’t without its hiccups. That said, I couldn’t have been more proud of my little girls. They are such wonderful babies. Of course, I’d like to take a little credit for it, but you decide.
As you know, I was unable to sprout 6 more arms so we couldn’t take the car seats and the stroller. We made it to the airport and I marched in, one suitcase, one double stroller, one diaper bag. I was flying lean. Security was a marvel; they didn’t make me take the babies out of their stroller and just did a wand search. I had the formula cans and the baby fruit separated out in baggies so no problem there. Before I knew it, we were through the first hurdle. From security, it was directly to the toy store to buy a couple new playthings that had never been seen before in case of a “boredom emergency.” Then we headed to the gate.
At the airplane, I passed one kid off to a maintenance worker while the other crawled around on the jetway and I folded the stroller. Imagine my shock/horror when maintenance tried to pass the child to the flight attendant and was refused. Virgin Atlantic flight attendants are not allowed to hold infants! What? How am I supposed to pee? I’ll tell you. I made some noise about it, and about 3 fellow passengers immediately offered to babysit should my bladder fill. Done.
Then off to our seats. Eva got strapped into an infant chair, Zoe got the seatbelt infant strap for my lap. At this point, I worked my magic wand and they both fell asleep. (Ok, really I timed take off to coincide with naptime but it was still impressive.) And I’ll pause here, Part Two to come. What have we learned so far? If you want to travel with infants, you can’t compromise safety. And you must be an incredibly anal and organized individual who Ziplocs the fruit pouches before leaving the house. Oh, and it’s okay to let your kid eat the dirt off the jetway or lick the jet fuel off a maintenance worker’s coat. Something’s gotta give.
Greetings from Avenue Z
Those of you who are familiar with New York City know all about the East Village and the Lower East Side. As the avenues go further east, they lose their numberical designations and become alphabet letters: Avenue A, B, etc. It’s called Alphabet City and it used to be a pretty rough area. Now it’s just kind of funky with a lot of “character.” I used to live near here so I consider this neighborhood my home. However, I guess I didn’t really consider how suitable my “home” was for my new life. With Child(ren).
I’m staying on Avenue B. I booked this through a friend who knows the owner. It’s billed as an “apartment hotel” and I thought, “Golly gee! That sounds fabulous. All the comforts of home (laundry, fridge and microwave), coupled with the comforts of a hotel (little soaps in the bathroom). And the price. Whoa. How else could I find such a bargain in the city? You know where this is going, don’t you? Heard of something sounding too good to be true?
I survived the plane ride as the lone adult supervising two little people (more on this later) and was met on the other side by a very nice driver with a sedan fitted with 2 infant seats. We crossed the bridge into Manhattan and I kept pointing out all the sights to the girls, my excitement growing. Pulling into my old ‘hood, I immediately started planning my smoked salmon pig out at Russ & Daughters, my shopping spree at Old Navy (don’t laugh. We don’t have it in London.), my long walks along the East River watching elderly Chinese people exercise. And then we arrived at our destination.
Looked nice enough. Clean front door. But where’s the doorman waiting to greet me? Oh that’s okay, I don’t require a doorman building. I’m a mom with jam handprints on her shirt. I’m not fancy. To my happy surprise, the owner appeared like magic, ready to escort me to my lodgings for the week. As I walked into the lobby I automatically turned to find the elevator. And saw garbage cans. And a very steep, narrow, long staircase. I’m in a walk up. Third floor. Two infants. One slick double stroller. Total weight about 75 pounds. Awesome.
I’ll tell you how it’s all worked out once I find my Advil. And my back brace. And strap my ankles. The learning never stops, does it?
One year ago
Today is Eva’s first birthday. So today I’m just taking a few lines to reflect. Because I’ve got a lot to do. And I’m squatting in the hallway of a Lower East Side walk up, stealing internet. Long story. One you will absolutely be hearing. But for the moment…
I can’t believe a year ago I was standing in a hospital room waiting to meet my daughter. I didn’t know if she’d be big enough to be in the regular nursery, let alone go home with us. We were unsure if she was going to have trouble breathing or cardiac problems, since fluid on the heart was the reason for the emergency induction. But then she was there, all 4 pounds, 10 ounces of tough cookie. When she was finally allowed to eat, the nurse handed her to me and I just looked up stupidly, unsure how I was supposed to fit half an ounce into a baby so little. For all my education and years of study, I realized in that moment that I had a lot to learn.
But we’ve gotten there, haven’t we? Somehow we’ve survived quite the year. With a new baby arriving 3 months later, a couple of transatlantic flights, and a real battle over some pureed peas, we’ve come out the other side. As we officially leave infancy and entire childhood, I can’t help but marvel at the way she wormed her way into our lives and our hearts. Maybe the first time we met was one year ago in that hospital room but standing here today, she is no less a part of me than my right arm. I love you Eva. Happy Birthday big girl!
Planes, Trains and Automobiles
I’m taking a short break from packing to drop you all a quick note. I got some nice feedback on G’s guest blog, so I suppose we’ll be inviting him back sometime in the near future. But not today. Today I want to talk transportation. As in taxis, car seats and airplanes. I may not be a child-proofing freak, but when it comes to safety in moving vehicles, I’m pretty much a nut. But sometimes it becomes nearly impossible, doesn’t it?
I’m all set to fly with the girls on Tuesday to New York. It’s Eva’s first birthday and we’re meeting up with some friends and family in the Big Apple. I’ve been planning this trip for months and very much looking forward to it. However, there is now a little glitch: G says he might not be able to fly over with me. Hmmm. 7 hours in a plane. 2 infants. One Mommy. Sounds glorious! (I used to look forward to these flights, visions of a glass of champagne and a featured film, uninterrupted by ringing phones or emails, dancing through my head. Now I just want to throw up.)
My normal travel plan involves 2 car seats and a stroller, plus luggage. Car seats into taxi, lugged into the airport and then checked at the counter. Stroller is loaded with children who were previously occupying said car seats, then that is checked at the gate. On the other end, stroller receives children, we get through baggage and retrieve our big old Graco 32s and back into a waiting vehicle. But now I’m one Mommy. With 2 arms. How exactly is this supposed to work?
Miracle of miracles, there are apparently car companies that provide infant seats. And other companies that rent car seats for travel. So somehow, someway, I’ll be getting two infants and a stroller, plus luggage, across the ocean without the added pain of maneuvering a pile of restraint systems at the same time. Someone asked me if you really need to use a car seat in a taxi. The technical answer is, “No.” Generally taxis are exempt for child-safety laws. However, until they are exempt from motor vehicle accidents, I’m going to try my very best to not go there. Especially when I’ve got all of you watching me.
Please Welcome…
Thought I’d give you all a special treat and invite a guest blogger. My husband. Aren’t you curious about what it is like to live with me? So here’s his post. Okay. I’m lying. He thinks I’m ridiculous. But here’s my post, channeling his brain. I bring you: Life as Mr. Dr. Mommy Zibners. Subtitle: I could have gone to medical school too.
Hi. I’m Mr. Zibners. Not really, but I don’t like the spotlight. I could have gone to medical school if I wanted. But seriously. Between Google and Wikipedia, why bother? I generally let my wife make family medical decisions, unless I find her opinion suspect, in which case I verify the information using the Internet. (Note from Dr. Z: I came home after Zoe’s birth to find an open search engine looking for verification that newborns’ heads do, in fact, look like that.)
Anyway, back to me. Mr. Z. Here’s our conversation last night after I broke into my wife’s computer and read her blog before it was posted.
Me: What’s wrong with Eva! Is she sick? Is she okay?
Dr. Z: She’s fine. It’s a virus. Did you read anything other than the words that alarmed you?
Me: But I hate it when she’s hurting.
Dr. Z: She’s not. She’s fine.
Me: But I think of her sick and it makes me miserable.
Dr. Z: I know, honey, but you have to remember that the more little colds and viruses she gets now, the less we have to worry later. So if she’s a little sick and not bothered, isn’t that a good thing?
Me: I know. I know. I know. But does she need an antibiotic?
Dr. Z: because antibiotics treat viruses?
Me: oh I forgot. Right. Viruses.
I’ll stop here. What was the point of this? Two-fold. Firstly, I thought it was worth reminding you that not all sickness is bad. There is plenty of evidence that the more little colds and bugs children get when they are young will result in fewer illness and possibly less allergies and asthma when they are older. Secondly, isn’t it nice to know that even if you pay close attention to everything I say, when your kid is sick your first instinct is to panic? The man lives with me and still can’t think straight when he thinks one of the girls is ill. Which means that I had to learn a long time ago to say things over and over and I don’t mind a bit. Go ahead and ask me one more time, just to be certain.
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"WHAT I LIKED: This book is written in a funny, down to earth way that doesn't make you feel like an idiot. I really would have appreciated something like this when my kids were really little and I freaked out over everything they put in their mouths. It has a scenario/question and answer format, with clear answers on when not to panic and when to call 911."
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