Mexico City!!

 

Yesterday was… better. Not necessarily good, but after the previous 24 hours, the bar for “better” was lying somewhere on the floor of a Texas airport.

It was a rough night for Evie, who was intermittently awake throughout our already very short night. In her defense, she was sleeping in a strange bathtub in a strange hotel in Texas without any of her normal stuff. Joni, meanwhile, had an exceptionally great night of sleep except for one small, tiny, hardly-worth-mentioning incident where our 1½-year-old may or may not have rolled completely off the queen-sized bed. Apparently kids actually do that. I thought “kid falls out of bed” was mostly something from cartoons and old parenting stories, but it turns out it is very much a real thing. There was a loud BONK, immediately followed by the most pathetic little cry imaginable, and Dad went from unconscious to cradling a toddler in approximately 0.003 seconds. She was fine. 

We slept together after that, which was actually adorable. Joni snuggled up next to me with her cute little snores directly in my ear, almost completely drowning out the intermittent screams of her baby sister across the room. Almost. Ahhh, family vacation. 

Nevertheless, at 5 a.m. Team Rosenfeld rallied again. We made the short trip back to the airport and boarded yet another airplane, this time ACTUALLY headed for Mexico City. I had Evie for this flight and, naturally, ended up sitting next to an absolutely delightful Mexican couple who immediately fell in love with her. They gushed over her and repeatedly offered to hold her for me. I graciously declined while receiving absolute daggers from Emily across the aisle, who had an energized toddler and an entire row to herself. 

But the flight went remarkably well and, finally, WE MADE IT TO MEXICO CITY! Even more astonishingly, in an event that defies both probability and everything I understand about the airline industry, our luggage made it too. This luggage had survived two missed connections, multiple rebookings, an unexpected overnight stay in Texas, and whatever mysterious underground journey checked bags take when their owners’ travel plans completely disintegrate. Yet there it was, patiently waiting for us. Honestly, I was almost proud of it.

We arrived at our Airbnb and it was spectacular. The hosts had left us a tray of Mexican candies, a sombrero, a luchador mask, and an assortment of wonderfully touristy Mexican goodies.  The apartment itself was gorgeous, with beautiful artwork, tons of character, and multiple terraces. After the previous 24 hours, it felt less like checking into an Airbnb and more like being medically evacuated to a resort.  

After a quick siesta, we headed out to explore the Zócalo, Mexico City’s enormous main square in the historic center. Officially called Plaza de la Constitución, it has been at the center of life here for centuries, the ceremonial heart of the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan was in this same area, and today the square is surrounded by landmarks like the Metropolitan Cathedral and National Palace. We also happened to arrive just as the city was preparing for Mexican Independence Day, so our peaceful introductory stroll through Mexico City was neither peaceful nor particularly stroll-like. The place was PACKED.   Decorations were going up, streets were overflowing with people, music and noise were everywhere, and the entire historic center felt like it was winding itself up for one enormous national party. Joni was awestruck. 

Then Mexico City decided we hadn’t experienced quite enough adversity yet, and the afternoon downpour arrived while we were walking to the grocery store. Because of course it did. Eventually, with wet parents and increasingly exhausted children, we retreated to the apartment, ordered Mexican food, and declared it a chill night.

Unfortunately, Evie appeared to be getting sick again. She vomited twice and transformed into an absolute monster when it was time to sleep. There was screaming, a little more vomiting, followed by considerably more screaming. Eventually whatever tiny reserve of energy had been powering her rage finally ran out and she passed out. Then Joni passed out. Then Emily passed out. Then I passed out. The entire Rosenfeld family slept for 12 HOURS! Apparently the treatment for international travel with two under two is simply unconsciousness.

This morning we woke up feeling like entirely different human beings. I made a nice, relaxing breakfast, both girls looked refreshed, and the adults were functioning again. Today was going to be different. Today we were going to experience culture.

We headed out to explore Castillo de Chapultepec, the spectacular castle sitting high above Mexico City in Chapultepec Park. Built beginning in the late 1700s, it later became the residence of Emperor Maximilian I and Empress Carlota during the short-lived Second Mexican Empire and then served as the official residence of several Mexican presidents. Today it houses the National Museum of History, with ornate rooms, enormous murals, gardens, historical artifacts, and incredible views over Mexico City (AI generated). It is beautiful, historic, fascinating…and, as it turns out, an absolutely terrible place to take a 1½-year-old who has been informed that she cannot eat snacks.

The castle had strict rules: no food, no stroller, children had to be carried, and, importantly, they could not ride on shoulders. So Joni spent approximately three hours on a private historical tour being carried around in my arms while being denied one of the things she values most in this world: snacks. She was displeased. Deeply displeased.  Did I mention she was not happy?? I attempted to appreciate centuries of Mexican history while holding a squirming toddler who seemed determined to communicate directly to the Mexican government that their snack policy was barbaric (I had to keep her from shouting Vive la revolution!). Emily, meanwhile, carried Evie, who peacefully slept through most of the tour. Of course she did.  Despite Joni’s increasingly militant opposition to cultural enrichment, the castle was absolutely beautiful and the tour was fantastic. 

Afterward, we started making our way back toward the apartment and stopped at a taco spot, where I had some of the most mouthwatering tacos I have ever eaten. I ordered a margarita, which was also amazing, and the waitresses immediately fell in love with the girls and gushed over them while Emily and I sat there eating tacos, drinking, and relaxing. For the first time in several days, I had the strange sensation that we might actually be on vacation.

We eventually wandered back to the apartment for an evening siesta. The girls are sleeping, the parents are resting, we have our luggage, and nobody is currently stranded in Texas. Tonight we are heading to a five-star restaurant. 

Stay tuned.

Two under Two and Traveling!! Sort of…

So we set off for Mexico City!

Because apparently traveling internationally with two children under two wasn’t enough of a challenge, I decided to roll the dice and book American Airlines once again. It was the quickest and only Oneworld route.

Huge mistake.

Our adventure actually started off suspiciously well. We had a great dinner and brief 19-hour visit with the Ecks, where I was immediately forced to eat my own words. I had confidently declared that there was absolutely no way all of our luggage, car seats, stroller, children, and adults were fitting into one vehicle. Two cars would obviously be required. After some advanced-level automotive Tetris in their driveway, everything and everyone fit.

Fine. I was wrong.

Joni had an absolute blast playing during our short visit, and then at 3:45 a.m. we loaded up for the airport for our 6:00 a.m. flight. Thus officially began our first major trip with two under two.

The girls were champs. The adults were tired but optimistic. The roads were completely empty. And then, insultingly, we absolutely flew through check-in and security. Emily’s eyes were screaming, I told you so.

She had made me leave WAY later than I was comfortable with. Apparently she thinks arriving three hours early for a domestic flight is “excessive.” I think it’s called being prudent. I prefer spending several peaceful hours inside an airport over experiencing even six consecutive seconds of uncertainty.

But fine. She was right, again...

Things were going suspiciously well. We even got upgraded to first class for the flight to Phoenix! And that is precisely when the Rosenfeld Travel Curse remembered we existed.

Boarding started late. Then we sat on the plane. And sat. And sat. For almost two hours. With two infants…

Eventually, they announced a maintenance issue. Two hours sitting inside a stationary airplane with children under two sounds like something the CIA might have experimented with before deciding it violated international law. Somehow, though, the girls did great.

And, frankly, so did their parents.

Unfortunately, our leisurely two-hour tour of the tarmac meant there was absolutely no chance of making our one-hour connection in Phoenix.

So off the plane we went and into the long, arduous process of rebooking four people while simultaneously trying to locate our gate-checked stroller and car seat, which had apparently entered the American Airlines Witness Protection Program. Another two hours passed. Eventually, they found them. Thank God!

Our glamorous first-class lifestyle was also over. We were now flying to Texas in economy, where Emily was assigned a middle seat for the four-hour flight. On one side was a very skinny gentleman by the window. On the other was a woman requiring two seatbelt extenders with a strict sidearms-up policy.

Emily, an infant, and approximately four inches of personal space were sandwiched in between. By this point, the girls had already been traveling for about eight hours. And yet… it actually wasn’t as bad as you’d expect. Joni required approximately 14,000 individual forms of entertainment but remained an absolute champ. Evie screamed for only about 7% of the flight, which, when traveling with a four-month-old, I believe qualifies you for some sort of parenting award. Emily was Wonder Mom.

I mostly provided moral support and snacks. Then, somewhere over America, we remembered one small detail: We still had another connection. Our layover in Texas was only about an hour. Naturally, the incoming flight was late.

Then unloading luggage took forever.

Then taxiing took forever.

So we landed in Texas already knowing the truth:

We had missed our connecting flight.

Again.😡🤯

The girls had now been traveling for more than 13 hours. It was around 8 p.m. We were stranded in Texas. Everyone on the airplane, including us, seemed genuinely delighted to finally get some physical separation from our adorable little monsters.

Bleary-eyed and running on something considerably less potent than fumes, Emily and I stumbled to the airline counter and attempted to negotiate a hotel and a flight for the next morning.

This is when we discovered a few additional details. We did not have our luggage. We had two infants. It was 98 degrees outside. Nobody had eaten dinner. And Joni had just used her last diaper….

There are moments in a marriage when no words are necessary. You simply look into the eyes of the person you love—the person with whom you have built a life, traveled the world, created two beautiful children….and you communicate on a deeper spiritual plane.

Emily and I looked at each other.

“Fuck it.” We were camping.

Not real camping, obviously. Hotel camping. Which is arguably more difficult because when actual camping you generally remember to bring supplies. We improvised.

Dinner for Joni involved a microwaved burrito surgically divided using wooden coffee stir sticks because apparently the hotel possessed neither forks nor knives.

One child went into the bathtub.

The other got her own queen-sized bed for the first time because there were no cribs available.

We ordered diapers by Uber.

Then we ordered the trashiest food we could find for our own dinner because, at this point, vegetables felt disrespectful to everything we had endured.

And through all of it, Joni won the gold medal for the day.

Thirteen-plus hours of travel. Multiple airports. Multiple airplanes. Delays. Missed connections. Lost-and-found stroller adventures. No luggage. No routine. No crib. Parents visibly descending into madness.

And she just rolled with it.

When I finally put her into the enormous hotel bed and lay down beside her, she looked around at her strange new surroundings for a few minutes and then simply accepted that this was apparently her life now.

Ten minutes later, she was asleep.

Evie continued fighting sleep with the determination of a tiny, angry union organizer, but eventually exhaustion began winning that battle too. 

Finally, Emily and I sat there outside (because we didn’t want to risk waking up the kids) our luggage-free Texas hotel room, surrounded by Uber-delivered diapers, burrito remnants, coffee stir sticks, and two miraculously surviving children.

We stared at each other. Slightly manic. Completely exhausted. And somehow still married.

Then we crashed.

Mexico City remained somewhere in the distance.

But Day One of traveling with two under two was officially complete.

Current score:

Joni: 10/10

Evie: 8/10

Emily: 12/10

Dad: Still believes arriving three hours early would have prevented all of this

American Airlines: We’ll discuss this later. Also, sorry no pictures… but nothing to photo. 

Girl Dad, Part III: We Have Sleep!

I feel like my last update from the world of two-under-two was written from somewhere deep inside the newborn trenches. I was exhausted, frustrated, and beginning to wonder if Evie had been sent specifically to test my commitment to this whole parenting thing. Well, I am thrilled to report that we have experienced a dramatic change in management.

EVE IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!!

I don’t want to brag too loudly because I’m convinced babies can sense parental confidence and immediately retaliate, but this has been life-changing. Apparently getting several consecutive hours of sleep transforms you from a hollow shell of a human being back into someone who actually enjoys his children. Who knew? 

And it’s not just the sleep. Our little snorter has finally started interacting with the world. She’s giving us tiny smiles, watching us with those big eyes, and actually responding when I talk to her. I’m mastering the art of baby talk. Best of all, I can now occasionally set her down for longer than two minutes without her reacting as though I’ve abandoned her at a highway rest stop. She’s settling into semi-predictable routines, which after the last few months feels roughly equivalent to having successfully broken a wild horse.

Now, I should acknowledge that this miraculous turnaround has suspiciously coincided with Vidah taking over care of both girls during the day. Correlation? Causation? I have no interest in investigating further. I’m sleeping and happy. Let’s not ruin a good thing with speculation.

Meanwhile, Joni has somehow reached peak cuteness, although I’ve said that before and she keeps proving me wrong. Every day brings new words, new expressions, and new discoveries. She’s endlessly curious and has enough energy to power a small municipality. She wanders around investigating everything, talking constantly, and charming virtually every human being she encounters.  Hanging out with her has become one of my favorite things to do. We’re past the stage where I’m simply keeping a baby alive and into this wonderful period where I get to experience the world alongside a tiny, hilarious person who thinks nearly everything is amazing. And she still remains the undefeated sleeping champion of the household. 

We’ve also started developing our own little routines. Joni and I go swimming every week, which has quickly become something I look forward to. Watching her confidence in the water grow has been incredibly fun, even if “swimming” currently consists mostly of splashing, climbing on me, and attempting things with absolutely no appreciation for personal safety.

And now I’ve started reading to Evie before bed. She’s obviously not offering much literary criticism yet, but I love having that little ritual with her. It’s something simple that’s just ours, and I’m looking forward to watching it evolve as she gets older, from staring blankly at the pages, to grabbing the book, to eventually demanding that I read the same story seventeen consecutive times.

The strangest thing about having two kids this close together is how simultaneously familiar and completely different it feels. With Joni, everything was new. Every stage felt monumental because we’d never experienced it before. With Evie, I know what’s coming, which unfortunately made the difficult newborn stage feel less magical and considerably more exhausting. But now I’m remembering the other side of that equation: I also know how much fun is coming.

The smiles become laughs. The staring becomes recognition. The little potato starts developing opinions and personality. Eventually she’ll be toddling around behind her big sister, and I have a feeling the two of them are going to be absolute trouble together.

For now, though, I’m enjoying this little parenting ceasefire. One daughter is at peak cuteness, the other has finally decided sleep isn’t the enemy, and for the first time in a while I feel like I’ve come up for air. 

Girl Dad, Part III is going considerably better.