...or Babyhattan, as it was then
When it comes to the least toddler friendly holiday, I used to think skiing ranked pretty high. But I think I have managed to trump myself. And all within the space of a month. For, dear bwb fans, I am taking Louis to Manhattan. Or Boyhattan as it shall henceforth be known chez L. What’s more: I am doing it by myself. Well, the flight bit. And most of the wandering around. DJ will be there – he’s going earlier for work – but by the sounds of it, he’ll be wall to wall.
My logic for going is simple. Pricey as those trans-Atlantic flights might be, they are a darn sight cheaper than they will be in June after Louis hits two. Which I realize means eight-plus hours (because whose flight has ever actually departed once you get on the plane? Not mine, for sure) with a hulking 21-month-old-to-be on my lap. And yes, that’s more than a little daunting. But hey, even if it’s a disaster, at least I’ll be doing something. And aren’t traumatic memories better than no memories at all? Or something like that.
What’s more, we won’t be alone in wreaking toddler havoc upon Boyhattan. No, Louis will have no less than two toddler friends with whom to run riot in the Met. Or whatever the hell else you do in a freezing March week with three boys under two. (And if anyone knows, please spill the beans!) As for whether Louis will ever get to go on a NYC trip he remembers – we were also there when he was seven months – well that particular jury is out. Maybe we’ll have to take a leaf out of the book of some friends who became parents last summer. They, too, are going to Manhattan (as they’ll get to call it). But alone, sans son. Incidentally, that particular fact was probably instrumental in pushing us to go. With Louis.