Posts Tagged ‘ car sick ’

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.

(more…)

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Baby Barf Isn’t a Fashion Statement

Wednesday, August 24th, 2011

Fia at camp-- post barf

Fia at camp-- post barf

It’s not everyday I get to walk down the streets of Soho smelling like baby barf. In fact, I’m not even in Soho very often. But as luck would have it, the one day I decided to take Fia into the fashionable hip area of New York City, she let loose.

My friend Courtney and I were taking the babes to a mom-tot camp. I recently got a car, so we decided to drive. Being pregnant and hot in the subways isn’t real appealing.

As I pulled into the parking garage, I heard the gurgling sound. And then smelled it. Phil had given her both milk and yogurt that morning. Fetid. It was everywhere.

The parking attendant dudes were amazing. They gave me paper towels, cleaning supplies, the works. In a scenario like this you find out quickly how good—or useless—your mom friends are.  Courtney got right in there and helped me with the mess as her son Teddy slept blissfully in the car seat next to Fia’s. How he didn’t wake up from the stench is beyond me.

Poor Fi was crying at first but then got her happy face on. Especially when I took her in the grubby parking lot bathroom and tried to give her a sink shower. She thought it was bath time.

“No, don’t touch the faucet,” I yelled as I dangled her over the dirty sink. “No, not the paper towels either.”  I was trying to hold her away from me as I cleaned her. It was a good core and arm workout. The floor was covered with water and dirt and her vomit. It was just a royal mess. (I did mop up the mess after.)

Of course it was one of those times when I didn’t bring a full back up outfit. I had a kimono-top, but that was it. Poor baby had her first experience in Soho looking more homeless than high fashion.

But now I get the badge of barf honor and know even more how imperative friends and family are. It takes a village—especially with vomit.

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