NYC Hates Babies (Part 1)

A couple weeks ago I decided I should take a five-hour train ride with my one and three year old into New York City. My friend Erin lives in Long Island and we were going to visit her and explore for a few days.

The day before we left, fit hit the shan. Violet started cutting two teeth and I got poison ivy and mastitis in one fell swoop. And I realized I had accidentally bought tickets for a "no checked baggage" train. So everything I needed for the three of us for the next four days had to fit in one carry on.

I had already declined travel insurance, so we would be on that train no matter what.

I didn't know if the train or subway aisles could fit a double stroller, so I decided to wear Violet in my carrier and push Harper in the single stroller. Monday morning we got to the train station and I decided to keep the girls in the carrier and stroller while we waited because the train would be there any minute.

An hour and 15 minutes later the train showed up. Good work, Amtrak. But by some strange miracle the girls did awesome on the train. (I'm planning another post in the next few days about what worked and what didn't work at distracting them while traveling.)

When we arrived at Penn Station in New York I loaded up the girls and my one carryon and looked for the nearest elevator to take me to street level. I headed towards one and was promptly stopped.

"You can't use this elevator," said a security guard. "This one is for people who are actually handicapped. You just have a stroller."

He pointed me towards an elevator in another part of the subway. Eventually we made our way outside and got some bagels. While waiting at a cross walk a young businessman was walking towards us while texting. He nearly tripped over the front wheel of my jogging stroller.

He looked at the stroller like it was a foreign object he'd never seen before. He scoffed and told me to get a job as he walked quickly by.

"I have no applicable jobs skills," I yelled after him. My degree is in journalism, after all.

I thought maybe it'd be best to get to Erin's house after a long day of traveling so we went back to Penn Station and got on the Long Island Rail Road. Harper fell asleep in the stroller and Violet was asleep in the carrier so I decided to stand for the 40 minute train ride. I found space for the us on the platform next to the conductor.

When my stop came I turned the stroller around and started out the door. As soon as I got the stroller out, the doors started closing on my arms. So Harper in the stroller was outside the train and Violet and I were inside. I looked around for help. There was no way I was letting go of that stroller. A couple nearby people yelled for the conductor to open the doors.

"You're closing the doors on a baby," the woman yelled, which might have been an exaggeration, but it got his attention. He opened the doors.

"Sorry, I didn't see you," he said.

"I was standing right next to you," I told him. He shrugged.

I cannot print what I said next. I have since repented.  Here's my bruises (a few days later) from having subway doors closed on my arms:

Thankfully Erin was waiting for us in the parking lot. We made it to her house without further incident. And time at Erin's house was exactly what we needed. She has an uncanny ability to make anyone and everyone feel immediately at home in her house.

We spent the next couple of days catching up, relaxing, eating pizza and going to the beach. Here's Violet savoring her pizza. There is so much savoring going on here:

On Thursday we decided to head back to NYC. This time Erin and her one-year-old son Patrick would be joining us.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of our adventure. It only gets better. And by "better" I mean "ruder."