learning

Just when I thought I knew how to manage life with a 17 month old, reality, that cruel mistress, slapped me in the face.

I should have known. I was foolish to think a trip with a toddler would go smoothly.

Day 1 in California: Blake throws up when the plane lands after a 5 and a half hour flight. Then again in our friend's car on the way to Evan's house. Then a third time in the car. And a fourth time once we get to the house.

Day 3 in California: Blake throws up in the car on the way to this. Needless to say we turn around and head for home. Unfortunately that means our friends who are riding with us don't get to go either. Oh, did I mention these are the same friends that picked us up from the airport? Ya.

Day 4 in California: Date night with Evan and airport pickup friends. Apparently Blake cries forever before he falls asleep.

Day 6 in California: The airport pickup friend watches my barf-tastic son for 6 hours. Oh, did I mention she has a 2 and a half year old? Ya.

Evan's brother gets married in a beautiful ceremony here.

Texts from concerned friends and family about the east coast earthquake while I'm in the middle of earthquake-ville.

Functioning on a 40 minute nap, Blake does pretty well at his first wedding reception. We duck out early, get a ride home from our friends who have seen way too much of the contents of my child's stomach only to find that the front door is locked. The front door that I was positive would be unlocked is locked. A few phone calls and swear words later, I manage to make way through a dark garage and find an unlocked door. Bath time and stories follow, and then Blake drifts off to dreamland and I start some laundry so we can return home with only few dirty clothes.

Rehearsal dinner. No vomiting. Cute dress.

 

Day 7 in California: We board the plane and Blake refuses to take a nap despite being exhausted. After 2 hours of trying to get him to fall asleep, he finally lays down on my arm and goes to sleep for the remainder of the flight. No barf this time. Thank goodness.

On our way home, in true New York City subway fashion, the train we need isn't stopping at the station at which we happen to be, so we have to figure out a different route home. After a ridiculous amount of stairs to walk down (stupid 4th Ave-9th St station), we get on the train that will take us within 2 blocks of home. But not before seeing a sleeping man stretched out along a seat on the train with his hand down his pants.

Welcome back to reality...and to Brooklyn.

(I promise there were some fun, non-barfing moments on our trip to CA. I'll save that post for another day.)