We recently stayed with dear friends in San Francisco to see a concert by one of Jake’s all-time favorite bands, The Asylum Street Spankers. It was the first time we’d traveled with Seabass just for fun, not for a holiday visit to see family. And the results? Mixed.
He didn’t sleep all that well, but it’s hard to know if that’s because he was just in a new place or because he’s got two raging white nubs on his upper gums that are about to sprout teeth. I was amazed at how well he handled being in the stroller for loooooooong walks around the city and how we managed to take public transportation with all of his accoutrements. (Word to the wise: If ever you’re just dying to stand out in the Haight, by all means, wheel a baby around.)
One particularly gorgeous day, we walked from our friends’ home in Cow Hollow all the way down to the Ferry Building for lunch. Jake and I had just bought some beautiful sandwiches and were sitting outside on park benches overlooking the bay with Seabass in his stroller. Given the length of time he’d spent in there, though, he was anxious to get out. When Jake removed him, lo and behold, his back was slathered in yellow/green poo. Upon further inspection, his poop had pushed up his crack ALL THE WAY INTO HIS ARMPIT. We spent the remainder of our lunchtime stripping him down, wiping out every nook and cranny, and trying to shoo a veritable flock of pigeons away from our food.
- Diaper change in public? Check.
- Nursing in public? (Covered, discreet, don’t worry.) Check.
- Hauling stroller on and off city bus? Check.
- Wonderful time showing precious baby the city where we fell in love? Check.