Saturday, August 31st, 2013
I must have really pissed off the vomit gods in my past life. I was a child puker because, like my daughter, I battled carsickness. I also threw up a decent amount in my college drinking days. But apparently that–and the many times Fia has barfed during the worst possible scenarios–are still not enough to give me a free pass. The gods continue to punish me.
We are still in our rental house while our new home is being renovated. The whole first floor here has no air-conditioning. It is 100+ degrees today. I have no sitter and a 3 1/2 year old and an 18-month old to entertain.
I decided to take them to the Natural History Museum, here in Los Angeles. It’s not too far, it’s a straight shot on the highway, and it has two super huge, dark, cold rooms. In this heat I have dreamt about these rooms. Specifically, I’ve dreamt about re-creating myself as a giant stuffed elephant.
We left early because I wanted to make sure I got them back in time to nap. The upstairs, where all the bedrooms are, is air-conditioned. At that time of day, it’s about the only place you can be in the sweltering heat.
We were cruising down the highway when Fia started complaining that her throat hurt. You know where this is going…. But, hear me out. Lately this has been her tactic to get a lollipop. She knows I usually have some on me. They are my crutch when I really do think she needs to barf. As we were leaving, she saw me put two in my pocket and wouldn’t stop talking about them. So I figured it was a ploy. I ignored.
Just as we exited off the highway and into the museum parking lot, the barf began to pour out. Copious amounts. It was awful. Especially because it stank so badly, I was forced to roll down the windows. It was that awful that I needed smog filled, 102-degree air to keep me from barfing too.
My hyper-but-laid-back-Emmett didn’t seem fazed. And honestly, at this point, I wasn’t really either. Except…except… I needed a Laundromat. I had no change of clothes for her and she was sitting in a bowl of barf. Problem was, we were in a neighborhood where crime rates are high. In fact, there was an armed robbery a week ago at the Lavenderia that Yelp guided me to. But doing a quick risk/benefit analysis, I decided that I’d rather be robbed than drive around smelling like vomit.
I actually carried Fia in her huge car seat. (Thank god I do bootcamp.) I wanted to contain the barf as much as possible. I stripped her down and threw my sweatshirt on her. An hour later, dripping in sweat and exhausted from entertaining two kids by watching machines spin, and sucking on the lollipops I should have used in the first place, (at 103 degrees the vacant lot didn’t seem like a suitable play space anyway) I lugged my now-clean car seat back to the car. I really wanted to go home. It was nearly nap time at this point. I was a mess. You can trick an 18-month into thinking the Laundromat was the day’s adventure. It’s not so easy with a 3 1/2 year old. As I started the engine, Fia says:
“Mommy, are we going to the museum now?”
So you can guess how I spent the rest of my afternoon…
Add a Comment
baby barf, barf, car seat, car sickness, crime, detergent, getting barf out of car seat, heat, heat wave, laundromat, laundry, Lavenderia, Los Angeles, nauseous | Categories:
Fearless Feisty Mama, Mom Situations, Mom Tricks and Tips, Moving to Los Angeles, Must Read
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.
Add a Comment
accident, body aches, car, car accident, car insurance, car seat, carseat, fender bender, impact, insurance, newborn, swimming lessons, toddler, traffic school | Categories:
Fearless Feisty Mama, Have Baby, Will Travel, Moving to Los Angeles
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.
Add a Comment
addiction to television, barfing baby, car seat, car sick, driving, Elmo, moving to LA, plane, sleep, sleep deprivation, television, toddler addiction, travel, travel with baby, travel with toddler, traveling, traveling with toddler, vomit, Wa, Wayne, Wayne Sanchez | Categories:
Have Baby, Will Travel, Mom Situations, Moving to Los Angeles, Must Read