Posts Tagged ‘ car ’

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.



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Nanny Driving=Me Crazy

Tuesday, December 6th, 2011

My nanny wants to drive Fia places. Playgrounds, the zoo, playspaces–in other words, do things that Fia loves. This is fantastic news, right? Except that the worry will put me in the looney bin.

In Brooklyn, driving was never an option. No one has cars, plus you walked to everything. Rain, sleet or shine. Didn’t matter. It’s one of the things that kicked my mom ass…the constant schleping.

Now we live in Los Angeles, which is the equivalent of living in the suburbs. There isn’t anything in walking distance. You drive to places.

After a frustrating search, I found this amazing nanny to watch Fia part time. She’ll be full time once the new baby comes. With no family in the area, it takes a village, even if that means hiring the village. So that’s what I’m doing.

I’ll call her M.C. She raised 5 kids on her own, she’s here legally, she’s going to speak Spanish to Fia, and all the moms who have used her said that she drove their kids everywhere. She has a perfect driving record. I have her license and am running a check myself.

But man, putting your baby in someone else’s hands to drive is a whole new thing for me. As my one friend said, “It’s like putting your most prized possession in a death trap.” I drive with Fia everyday. But only I. Or Phil. No one else has driven with her before.

I guess this is where a leap of faith comes in. Another friend of mine once said, “At some point, you have to learn to trust.” Maybe this is one of those times.

I printed out a list of activities in the area that I thought they could go to. None of them requires the interstate and it’s all within a 5 mile radius. Still, I’m torn. It’s not fair to either of them to force them to stay at the house all the time. And to shuttle them around myself seems counterproductive to having help in the first place.

Any thoughts?

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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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