A sick baby

And getting high off NYC spring

Hi! 

Last week I flew to New York with the whole gang in tow: Adam, the baby, and the dog. Traveling with two dependents is not for the faint of heart, but we managed to make it to the other side of the country in one collective piece, which felt like some sort of victory. 

The trip started out on a high. Being back in the city is always like that; an immediate rush that floods my system, jolting me out of my sleepy California rhythm. I zipped uptown, downtown, and over the Brooklyn Bridge. I saw family, had a great recording session with Cameron Rogers for her podcast, Conversations with Cam, and took Leo around the city. We went to the zoo, bundled up for walks, and had playdates with friends and their babies. I felt so proud of our ability to acclimate; Leo napped on the go, free from the rigidity of our normal schedule, and I marveled at how much he seemed to enjoy socializing. I popped his carseat in the back of Ubers and watched the buildings streak past us, my baby and me, together in the city I love so much.

I’m not sure when it happened. Maybe he touched the side of a car door before putting a finger in his mouth. Maybe someone on the plane coughed in his direction, or the person in the Uber before us was getting over a cold. All I know is that on Wednesday he was fussier than usual, and the next morning he felt warm. My mother-in-law is a pediatrician, so I brought him into her office on Thursday afternoon, my shoulder soaked with his snot, his eyes searching my face for an answer as he cried. When I saw the rash spreading over his legs, I started to sob.