Just to throw my life into utter chaos (because I was not already stressed enough), I decided to drive with the baby to Manhattan this week while R was on a business trip. I wanted to see Auntie K and, of course, to let the baby take her first bite of the Big Apple:
My first mistake? I decided to drive. Oh yes, I know the horror tales of driving to Manhattan. I know I should take the train, the bus, an airplane, a donkey cart, anything to avoid the traffic that woes the city on a daily basis. I have taken all the other methods of travel into the city many times and, given what I needed to carry and where we would be staying (with Auntie K), it made no sense to try to get there any other way. May I also just say that I have been to the city at least 50 times over the course of my life and never once have I run into this mythic traffic. Never once. Until yesterday. Oh.My.G-d. It was as if Manhattan decided to put on a show: "Look how difficult we can be to get to." What is normally a 3-hour drive took Samara and me 7.5 hours. Granted we stopped twice to nurse and pee, but it was ludicrous. The final straw came on 95, still 7 exits from Hudson Parkway when I called my father hysterical. We had been at a standstill for 2 hours and Samara needed to nurse. Before getting off in the middle of the South Bronx and pulling my top down, I called my dad. Luckily he was able to walk me through crossing the Triboro Bridge and I was able to get into the city relatively unscathed. The afternoon and evening were quite lovely:
Check out this Duane Reade as it factors heavily into the second part of my trail of mistakes:
Mistake Number Two? Mama needed a margarita after the trip into town. We settled into a cute little Mexican place with not so cute, not so little prices. We ordered two margaritas, some delish eats and a bowl of avocado for the baby. I should have known when she rejected the food that something was amiss, but I dismissed it as part of the long drive we'd had earlier. On the way home, the little one passed out:
Three hours later, she woke with a vengeance, vomiting the contents of her stomach as well as some of what I believe was a meal my grandmother ate. The poor thing spent about an hour repeatedly vomiting, a situation which would have been hilariously fun under normal cirucumstances, but in my friend's studio apartment at 3 a.m. the night before she had an important business thing to do, it was practically a festivity of amusement. Luckily for us, Auntie K was a trooper and made not one, but two 3 a.m. runs to Duane Read to get both Pedialyte and a rectal thermometer (on the advice of our pediatrician). And since no sickness would be complete without a drama mama breakdown, I became convinced she had both EColi and Salmonella and could not sleep a bit the rest of the night.
Three hours later the babe had made a full recovery:
Just in time to drive home. Despite the chaos that is my every move, it was wonderful to see Auntie K for both of us. Now please excuse us. It is nap time: