Fosterhood in NYC

20th November 2009

6 notes

Thank you NYC for helping us home during rush hour

Thank you gang of mixed-race teenagers in Harlem who helped me 1. open my bag 2.  get my jacket off 3. hold my baby and 4. find my metrocard so that we could get on the subway.

Thank you elderly, black church lady for not judging me out-loud when I let Snap suck on the H1N1 infested subway railing.

Thank you million-dollar-bling Latina gal who cringed only briefly when Snap left three long strings of drool on her blouse and the gold chain necklace I failed to prevent him from stuffing in his mouth.

Thank you white, homeless, one-legged man on crutches who crawled under the seat to get Snap’s pacifier.

Thank you Mr. T (seriously, it might have been Mr. T) for opening up our stroller even after I rolled my eyes from your comment that it takes two hands (I’d LOVE a third arm, trust me).

Thank you preppy, middle-aged black woman for biting your tongue when I got my finger caught in one of Snap’s nappy dreads.

Thank you nerdy, person-amidst-transgendering for staying silent after catching wind of how sour-smelling Snap’s moldy, rehab pacifier holder was.

Thank you tall, skinny, Southeast Asian gas attendant at the Mobile station on Broadway who banged on cabbies’ trunks for us until one finally agreed that he was no longer “off duty”.

Thank you tiny, angry Asian woman who taught me (in Mandarin) how not to get my tote, diaper bags, umbrella and baby stuck in the subway turnstile.

Thank you vampire-pale, 20-something, skater punk in the deli who tried really, really, really hard to not touch my boob when I suggested he could just pile the bananas in the space between my chest and Snap.

Tagged: nycsnapsnap in rehabawesomeNYC + Kids = complicated

29th July 2009

11 notes

I locked us out of the apartment last night…

without formula.  without diapers.  without anything.

The metrocard trick through the side of the door didn’t work and my friend with the spare keys is in Japan.  JAPAN.  As in, the other side of the world.

So, of course, the first order of business is for Eaglet to move her 11pm Poo up to the 6pm Poo for the first time ever.  And make it a giant one with noises so loud I hold my breath that the premie diaper can take it.

Next, cue Eaglet to decide that despite having just finished a bottle, said 6pm Poo has left her suddenly STARVING.  Have you ever seen a really hungry infant?  They WILL find something to suck.  They will twist their little heads around like the exorcist, rooting and vacuuming in air until they find you.  And then, when your arm, knee, knuckle or hair doesn’t produce milk, they become a whole new level of never before seen rage.  If they had the coordination to crawl up the kitchen counter they would grab the pear knife and CARVE OUT YOUR EYES.  Because ye who takes longer than 10 seconds to feed the newest souls on earth will rot in the bowels of hell’s demons.

Standing on the street, I’m eventually surrounded by homeless people telling me my baby is hungry and smelly.  Yeah, I KNOW.  And where are her socks?  Oh, and is she your daughter?  As in, she can’t be your daughter- we think you just murdered a pregnant, black woman and cut out her baby so wait here while we check the local news and call the cops.

Now skip to me feeding Eaglet little cap fulls of bottled water.  On the stoop.  In 100 degree weather.  Surrounded by East Village’s finest street people. 

I think I’ve created a whole new level of ghetto.

Tagged: eagletawesomenyc