We did it. We decided — against all better judgment, against the advice of, well, those inner voices that repeatedly tell us stuff like "cookies are not vegetables," and against everything we've come to know and believe in these past 16 months since we became parents — to (wait for it) take that trip to New Zealand. With our toddler. On a plane. For 14 hours. God help us all.
I'm being seriously dramatic right now. I mean, it won't be that bad... will it? We've broken the news to several friends, and we've gotten these responses:
Friend 1: Baby Tylenol! Baby... Benadryl?... Um, I mean. Can't you just drug him?
Friend 2: Oh! It'll be so FUN! Oh, I wish I had a wedding to go to in New Zealand so that we would have to go to New Zealand! Don't worry it'll be GREAT!
Friend 3: You'll survive.
Friend 4: Is that a direct flight? For 14 hours? (quickly) Just curious.
Friend 5: (said not to me, but to another friend) Oh my god. I would not want to be them right now.
Guess what, lady? I DON'T WANT TO BE YOU. BECAUSE YOU'RE A PESSIMIST. AND MY CHILD IS GOING TO PET A SHEEP. WHAT IS YOUR CHILD GONNA DO?
New Zealand. Boom!
xox,
Rebecca
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