Car Accident–We’re Fine

Thursday, March 1st, 2012

The Fragility of Life

Fia and I were in a car accident this week.  No need to gasp–we weren’t hurt. It was more of a fender bender that ruined the front of my car. And my nerves. We were pulling up to a stoplight on the way to swimming lessons. I went into the far right lane to turn on red. The car next to me suddenly decided to turn right and didn’t see me pull up. She turned into me. We were both at a near stop when it happened, so very little impact. And none to Fia, thank god, who was secure in her carseat. Still, it shook me up pretty bad.

It is one of those reminders that life can change in a millisecond. For the worse. And that when you’re driving with your babes, you have your most precious cargo with you. I’m actually grateful to my traffic school incident, as it was a good refresher course on driving.

When I’m tearing around my house like a hummingbird on steroids and about to fly out the door, Cleo (our nanny) always reminds me, “Remember, mama’s always come home.” Every time it stops me dead in my tracks and forces me to breathe.

Since the accident 3 days ago, I find that my whole body aches by the end of the day. Even down to my toes. On my insurance claim (which should be paid in full since I wasn’t at fault), I declined medical attention. I’m not going to make up a stiff neck or something when there was so little impact. However, I think the body itself tenses up so rigidly when something like that happens that it can have residual affects. Which maybe is happening now?? Add in the exhaustion of a newborn and a 2-year old, and no wonder I feel pretty horrible at the end of each day.

I have a rental car right now while mine gets fixed. I have white knuckled it everywhere I’ve driven. Because I’m paranoid.

Mamas–and their babies–always need to come home.

Moving With a Barfing Baby

Wednesday, October 26th, 2011

We Broke All The Rules. TV. Pacifier.

When we got to JFK I saw 2 signs: one for the chapel and the other for the restroom. I wasn’t sure which one I needed more. Divine intervention or soap.

We had just left Brooklyn at 7 a.m. to begin our new life in LA. We looked like the Brooklyn-to-Beverly Hillbillies. We had Wayne Sanchez as one carry on, 4 other carry-ons, 4 pieces of luggage, her stroller, and of course we three humans.

The driver, like most of them in New York, kept hitting the gas and brake. Stop and go. Stop and go. I was getting worried, but just hoped we’d make it. No such luck. 10 minutes from the airport, Fia whispered, “uh oh” and out came the barf. It went everywhere. Luckily for us, I had asked to use the driver’s car seat, because I didn’t feel like dealing with installing ours at that hour.

I won’t go into the stench. All parents know how horrendous it is. Make that double horrid when you’re 7 months pregnant and your sense of smell is heightened.

Poor Fia was crying. The driver didn’t say a word. I’m sure he was furious. I told him we’d give him extra for the cleaning. Phil and I were dealing with the aftermath, trying to clean up Fia with wipes, but really there was no point. She just had to sit in her vomit. And we all had to sit in the smelly van with her vomit. The only person who wasn’t rattled was Wayne.

I rushed Fia to the bathroom and the kind TSA women who saw us rushed over some plastic bags for her clothes. Thank god for national security.

I gave her a bath in the sink and managed to get off the smell. Slightly redeemed, we rushed to our gate, the last to board, looking like the 3-ring circus we were.

The plane was packed. All our carry-ons had to go under the seat. Wayne took up so much space we were literally scrunched with our knees to our chest. Fia fell sleep on takeoff and landing. The remaining, oh, 5 hours or so, was sheer entertainment and avoiding the ambush.  Wayne didn’t make a peep.

This may have been the worse travel day of my life. Oh, but it gets better.

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