Turns out traveling internationally with a 2.5 year old and 6 month old was exponentially harder than I could have ever imagined. We had done our New Orleans road trip in March and that was a success. Our Poconos Memorial Day weekend was also pretty breezy. But a combination of factors made this past two weeks perhaps the most challenging of my parenting life. It feels silly to complain or lament about the opportunity to spend two weeks in Sicily but it also feels important to tell the truth.
The truth is that the two weeks leading up to the trip were a merry go round of sickness. All four of us caught a daycare virus in succession. Henry recovered quicker than Archie. Both took turns at home while we tried to work. We were feeling pretty wrecked by sickness and juggling childcare with our jobs, so my dad volunteered to come down early to help us get ourselves organized for the trip. Just as soon as he got here, we got a note that Henry had spots all over him at daycare. We start driving him to urgent care to get it checked out, and then he throws up all over himself - and our brand new carseat - and our brand new car. After parking, I strip Henry naked on the sidewalk in the west loop and dress him in the back up clothes some past me had put in the diaper bag.
At urgent care we are told it’s “bug bites and he just threw up.” I’m told this amidst my child having a complete come apart. He runs out of the exam room and screams in the hallway. He goes to the bathroom with me, but escapes while I’m literally sitting on the toilet. He lays down in the middle of the hallway and the nurse not so kindly tells me he needs to be returned to the exam room immediately. He screams and wrestles me as we leave and everyone in the waiting room looks at me, not with sympathetic eyes, but with, “this mom is a monster and her kid is one too” eyes. When we return to the car, my dad has been there with Archie cleaning up the vomit. It’s not all gone, but he’s made a significant dent in the damage.
Over the next 48 hours, Henry throws up 10 times and develops a fever. We are researching whether we can push back our flight, but learn it will cost us $6000. Meanwhile, Joe’s daycare virus progresses into a full blown sinus infection. He also develops a fever. Also, we are still trying to do our jobs. Nobody is sleeping. Nonetheless, we pack up and work through all the various contingency plans. We take Henry to see his actual doctor who says it’s just another virus and gives us some guidance on travel. We decide to make it work.
At 2:30am of the take off day, Henry throws up for the last time. With little left to give and my parents support we manage to board a flight to Zurich at 2:30pm. This was how we started a two week international vacation with a 2.5 and 6 month old.
What happened next? Henry had diarrhea for the next three days (spreading that gem to several others on the trip). The first night in Sicily I tried to let Joe sleep since he was still very sick with his sinus infection, but the two children popped off taking turns delivering multiple rounds of angst and jet lag that led to me panic texting my best friends stateside that I had made a horrible mistake. I also had to tap in Joe to take one of the children. But we “woke up” in Sicily. And it was beautiful. And we saw sites and I leaned into the adventure.
We quickly learned that a sick two year old in Sicily is still a sick two year old. We couldn’t put the banana back together. We couldn’t stop the gelato from dripping. We couldn’t bear to sit on rocks in the sun for hours so he could dig every rock. We did just drive for 2 hours one day so our kids would fucking nap. And we did our best. We went to beaches. We hiked. We saw temples. We went to an incredible winery. Family members pitched in. At the end of week one we were turning a corner…and then.
Joe’s stomach caught the bug and he was down hard for 24 hours. Henry started to cough a little. Then a lot. Then spiked a 104/105 fever. We researched hospitals. We didn’t sleep. We held him. All day long. Our biceps have never looked better. It was hot. We couldn’t keep up with everyone else in the family and that was hard. As the youngest I have a fierce need to keep up, be part of it all. Henry was not going to let that happen.
Archie was also there. But his motto for the trip was “I’m just happy to be here” and honestly I barely recall spending time with him there. Except at 2am when he obviously decided to stop sleeping through the night and nurse instead. Shout out to the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins who gave Archie all the love and snuggles.
Still, despite all of this. Week two delivered. We stayed in a gorgeous villa in a lemon orchard with the most beautiful pool. Cousin Paula joined with boyfriend Leonard from Germany, a skilled child entertainer. We found familial connections in our homeland and saw our family ancestral home. We ate the most amazing meal on the side of a mountain with more dishes than we could count and foraged mushrooms I still dream about. We went to more beaches and Joe even went for a swim with Henry.
Of course the plane ride home was a disaster. Joe bore the brunt of it, carrying a screaming Henry around the plane for hours. Thankfully the German flight attendant had some hotdogs in a jar to offer Henry, providing a moment of calm. Though also of course Joe had to stand up and carry Henry while he ate the hotdogs (yes we know uncut hotdogs are a choking hazard for 2 year olds, but we were in survival mode).
We made it home. Henry woke up at 2:30am for the day the first night. Midnight for the day the second. Our godsend friends allowed us to drop him off for a day so we could adjust, unpack, breathe. These friends have 1.5 year old twins. Yes they are saints.
We survived. Did we thrive? No. Would we do it again? Probably differently but also probably yes. We were there to celebrate my parents’ 50th anniversary. We were there to get my dad to Sicily and connect with our roots. Those were things I just refuse to miss. And it was hard. The hardest month of our lives as parents. So, no. This is not a travel blog how to. But it’s also not a don’t do it blog. It’s just a “that was horrible and amazing” blog. Which is basically a lot of parenthood I’m realizing.
I started writing this right after returning, but then working, parenting, life, trauma of reliving it, got in the way. So I’m now finishing it on our fifth wedding anniversary. We are celebrating by being with my brother and niece and Joe’s brother and his wife up at our family cabin in northern Minnesota. Archie cried much of the drive up here. I had to sit in the back seat. But we left our house again. And it’s beautiful. And I’m so happy to be here.
As I wrote this piece, it occurred to me I was using “we” a lot. We did that trip to Italy. Joe and I. Together. Was it the best time of our marriage and partnership? Again, no. But we were both 100% in it doing everything we could to keep ourselves and our kids going. Life has changed a lot since we met 8 years ago and married 5 years ago. I love being a we. I love figuring out all of the messy beautiful things in partnership. I love this life and know we are so incredibly lucky. Also, two year olds…amirite?
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