Last weekend, we drove down to Maryland to meet Luca, our new nephew. Lucia was very excited to meet Cousin Luca, especially since the trip also included time with Aunt Molly, Uncle Ian, Gra, and Pop-Pop.
This was the first big trip we’d taken with both kids, and it wasn’t easy. Lucia was great in the car, but Greta spent much of the time screaming. In the middle of a long screaming session, Andrew made a left turn in a bus lane when we got to Silver Spring and got pulled over instantly; I leaned over to the window and told the cop that please, we really couldn’t stop, we had to feed the baby. It wasn’t even a lie; Greta was desperate. He told Andrew to be more careful and let us go.
In the hotel, however, things were better. We’d gotten two adjoining rooms and put the two pack-and-plays in one of them—and Greta slept better than she has for weeks, waking up just once at 3:30 to nurse. It was bliss.
Cousin Luca was, of course, the star. He felt as light as a feather compared to grown-up Greta. After lots of prodding and arranging, we managed to get a picture of the cousins together. Super-cute, all. This is a funny picture because I really don’t think they look anything like one another. Each is her (or his) own little person.
The drive back was horrendous—lots of rain, lots of Greta meltdowns—but the weekend was a success .
This blog began in 2006, when I quit my job and sold all my furniture to move to Barcelona with Andrew, skipping town blissfully and dramatically; then we skipped town again, to California, and then, finally, back to Brooklyn. Now I'm in a rambling old house in the suburbs, with two babies and a husband and the suspicion that we won’t be skipping town again anytime soon—at least not the kind of skipping town that involves packing boxes and moving trucks.