On Thursday morning, Henry and I set off for our New York adventure. I love New York City, but haven't been since Mike's 30th birthday celebration a few years ago (and of course, Henry has never been). Plus, it was our first visit to Aunt Gina in her new Brooklyn life, so we were very excited for the trip.
The most exciting part for Henry was, of course, the train ride there:
The dining car held particular magic for him - many a trip was made down to get snacks.
Upon arrival at Aunt Gina's apartment, the second most exciting part of the trip presented itself - the cats:
Larry and Stella were very patient with Henry - he got LOTS off cat snuggling time in. He now calls Stella "my very best friend" and likes to discuss Larry's "wiggle waggle tail"
Since we arrived in the afternoon, we spent the rest of the day exploring Aunt Gina's neighborhood and the playground options:
There was a particularly fast slide:
After dinner, we got Henry set in his sleeping tent and to bed.
Here is where it gets interesting (warning - grossness ahead)
Right before I was about to go to bed, I hear Henry asking for a drink. He requests some milk and drinks about a full cup (since, in a lovely bad mom moment I had forgotten his toothbrush and toothpaste, so what is a little more sugar on the teeth at 11 PM, right?). Then, about 10 minutes later he starts saying his stomach hurts. He seems OK to me - I am thinking it is a stall tactic. So, I give him some water and put him back in his tent. I go in to bed a few minutes later, and literally the second I put my head down, I hear a horrible sound. Yes. Henry threw up in his tent.
Now, you may recall that Henry has thrown up only once in his three years on earth, and I didn't actually witness that event. Vomiting scares me. I tend to panic.
So, I leap out of bed and pick up Henry, who is naturally hysterical. As soon as I am holding him...you guessed it. He turned Exorcist Toddler on me. For a child who does not eat, the amount of vomit that proceeded to come out and then cover him, me, his tent, and poor Aunt Gina's rug was impressive. In my panic I could do nothing. It was horrible. When I finally got my wits together and ran him into the bathroom, he managed a third projectile which made a lovely trail throughout the house.
So, there I was, alone with Henry in a strange apartment at about 11:45 PM. Me, Henry, the house, a rug, Henry's only pair of PJs, his sleeping tent, and his lovey were covered. Oh, and there was no washer/dryer.
Sigh.
Henry was fine once I got him cleaned up. He proceeded to chase the cats about and chat with me very happily for the next hour while I cleaned everything up as best I could. His lovey presented particular difficulty - I had to thoroughly hand wash it, and then in my delirium the only way I could think to dry it was in the microwave (Hey, whatever works, right?).
At about 12:30, I put Henry back to bed and lay down. At 12:35, he did it all over again.
At about 1:30 AM, once more towels had been used, a cooking pot had been set up by his cleaned tent, and his Bear had once more been washed and microwaved...he did it again (luckily, this time he avoided a big mess , thanks to my clever placement of said cooking pot).
At about 2:15, we finally got to bed.
Ah, these are the moments we look back on and laugh, right?
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