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 b3(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 food hell.
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…
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