When on a trip in another country with a baby, even if it is a friendly Canadian type country, one must come prepared. Apparently this ought to include baby helmet, suture equipment, food, and lots of money.
As I quickly learned this weekend, the delight of
a newly walking child on a wobbly boat is trumped only by the backache
of the parent charged with keeping said child from toppling overboard. As
I chased around in a crouched position, bitterly noting the lack of
food with any discernable fat or sugar or salt, any food at all for
that matter, I swore under my breath at my folly in agreeing to this
trip in the first place. Dinner, it seemed, would be served around 9pm. Eventually, I decided it was time for mommy and (baby 3) to go for a fucking walk.
We made our way into the ?fun touristy? streets,
crammed with cars and mysterious sidewalks that ended in the middle of
streets –much too narrow to accommodate my off roadin? stroller and
bad attitude. I wandered around feeling shipwrecked until
I spied a friendly enough looking cash machine and sang blessings as I
extracted a number of bills sure to protect us from imminent nonfat
The nearest food-like place was a large loud and
crowded organic market with stalls filled with fruit, art, hemp
clothing, but who needs plants when one needs a burger?We eventually
found sustenance and returned to the foodless boat. After listening to
in-depth discussion about pedicures, shopping, and leisure time
endlessly filled with travel, I had scads of fun chasing a newly
energized b3 hither and yon as she found each and every corner to
impale her head upon.
The weekend finally ended, but not before I
collided with the corner of an iron gate, fought with my husband in a
wine store, and dissolved into tears in front of my ?if you don?t have
anything nice to say don?t say anything at all? in-laws.
Next time, I?ll bring my own cheeseburger, child helmet, case of wine, and cranky girlfriend. Now THAT?s something worth traveling for?