home insemination kits with syringes
Two parents, both blissfully unaware,
In chilly North Dakota, where our tale begins.
A pair of well-meaning guardians find themselves
Caught in a whirlwind of misfortune’s cruel twists.
Dramatic? Perhaps. But let me tell you, traveling with my toddler on a frigid December evening certainly felt like a scene from a tragic play. My husband and I were unprepared for the chaos that awaited us just below the 49th parallel.
Setting the Stage
Let’s set the stage: Our passports had been expired for six years. But as two introverted homebodies, this wasn’t much of an issue. We rarely ventured out since, well, there are people out there. However, with a family vacation on the horizon, it was high time to renew those passports.
Maybe it was the holiday spirit or a sudden urge to help my son socialize, but my husband clung to the wild idea of driving to Fargo just a week before Christmas. My instincts screamed against it, but alas, I can’t always be the decision-maker. So, hotels were booked, and bags were packed.
The Packing Challenge
I left work early to prepare. Traveling with a toddler is no light task. Picture what you need for a weekend trip and multiply that by, oh, 70. No, 70 times 7. This would make me a packing master! I crammed six sleepers for two nights into an absurdly small duffel bag, muttering, “What is this? A bag for ants?! It needs to be at least five times bigger!”
As I tossed the last of my toddler’s items into the car, my husband suggested I remove some sleepers. “Six is too many, Emma. You’re being ridiculous.” I had no words, only a look that would have conveyed, “You have the brain of a rock!”
The Journey Begins
An hour later, we were devouring fried food and snapping selfies at a local eatery. My toddler, usually a picky eater, seemed unusually cheerful. I figured his lack of appetite was due to the jar of baby food he devoured before we left. No worries, I didn’t want to share my onion rings anyway.
Fast forward an hour. It’s late, dark, and freezing. We were on our way to the hotel, and I envisioned soaking in a hot tub while my son splashed around with his dad.
But instead, I heard a strange sound. What was that? I looked down, thinking I had spilled my drink. Nothing. I turned around and gasped—my sweet boy was unloading his stomach all over himself. Panic set in as we were two hours from home and still had another hour and a half to go.
Thick vomit filled his car seat, and we pulled into a random parking lot to clean up. We were bailing water out of a sinking ship. I had nowhere to change him, so we opened the hatchback and stripped him down in the freezing cold. My heart broke as he shivered and cried. I fought back tears while singing “I love you a bushel and a peck” to soothe him.
Cleaning Up
Finally, he was cleaned up and bundled in a fresh sleeper. We resumed our journey, a bit shaken but okay. He fell asleep as soon as the car started moving. I sighed in relief, exchanging looks with my husband that mixed shock and triumph.
But those were famous last words. My toddler threw up five more times before we reached the hotel. Five times! I stood in the snow, scooping up vomit, changing a screaming baby in the trunk, and singing off-key like I was auditioning for a bad reality show.
Arrival at the Hotel
We finally arrived at the hotel, exhausted and with no clean clothes. I checked us in with my toddler asleep in my arms, wearing a vomit-soaked sweater. Our suite had only a standing shower. I sat on the shower floor with my son in my arms, closing my eyes as the warm water washed away our troubles. But the weight of helplessness lingered.
My husband, a true hero, stayed up late washing loads of soiled clothes. After what felt like a marathon of cleaning, we finally had fresh pajamas. We snuggled into bed, ready for a long winter’s nap… and that’s when the diarrhea started.
If you’re interested in more stories from the trenches of parenthood, check out this great resource on home insemination.