Vacation Chronicles

This is way late. We've been back for almost a month. It just took me a while to recover. But now that I have, I bring you... THE VACATION CHRONICLES.

Ryan got sent to Switzerland for a week for work. We decided he would take a week of vacation, and we'd all fly over for 2 weeks and make a nice family trip out of it. We got Sir his passport (he is 6 months old in the picture. It's good for 5 years). We purchased tickets. We figured things out.

I was surprised that Sir was fairly reasonable on the plane. I tried like a madwoman to get an infant dosage for Children's Benadryl, but no one would give it to me, since it has a heavy sedation effect. No shit, people. I don't plan on drugging my baby every night, but I figure spending 8 hours on a plane is a special occasion. So, no drugs. He slept most of the way anyway, had a short fussy period about halfway through. There were a handful of other small children on the flight, and naturally we were all within a few rows of each other. It was a domino effect. One baby would get fussy and set all the other babies off. Luckily, Sir is cute and no one blamed him.

Sir has also decided that the flight was the perfect time to begin to refuse nursing. I could not convince him to nurse. Not the hugest deal in the world, I packed a few bottles to take with me, but have you ever tried pumping in an airport bathroom? Or even better, the airplane bathroom? It doesn't work. I tried. I couldn't relax. So by the time we got to the hotel in Switzerland I was tired AND had rock hard boobs that deserved their own graphic novel depiction.

The first few nights were hairy. Sir could not wrap his head around the time change. So at 1 am, he was wide awake and HUNGRY for dinner. Oh, and did I mentioned cranky? Yeah, we figured that out the first day when I looked in his mouth and found a new tooth.

4 days into the trip I woke up with a stuffy nose and scratchy throat. Great, a cold. Just what I need. DH was working all day, leaving me alone in a foreign country to wrangle a cranky Sir and only CNN International to keep me company. No problem, I can take some Sudafed and power through. I am Mom, I can do it.

No. That was apparently not enough challenge, because I also woke up with a fire in my crotch. Yes, it's true, I have my very first yeast infection. My joy knew no bounds.

Also no problem, you must be thinking. Go get yourself some Monistat! Well, I tried. Went to the pharmacy, fought my way past the 3000 square feet of makeup and perfumes, and found the 2 aisles dedicated to maladies. I spend about 30 minutes staring at what I can only assume is the feminine products section (everything is in French or German, neither of which I speak).

Now here is my dilemma. I am loathe to pick something off the shelf willy-nilly. I'm afraid I'll end up sticking Ben-Gay up my hoo-ha. At the same time, I don't want to try to ask the 20 year old "pharmacist" with microscopic pores and a body that would make Gisele Bundchen jealous what I need to buy for a yeast infection. If she can't understand what I'm trying to say I would end up miming it out in the middle of the store. I don't even know how to mime "cottage cheese vag."

So I go home, spend another night with horrible burning, poke around on Google for some French translations, and try again.

Success! I am pleased to note that 2 days before we went home, I was cold-free AND cured of the yeast infection. Sir was acclimated to the time zone.

Unfortunately, then Ryan caught the cold. And when he's sick he's about as useful as a genital wart. And in 2 days time we would hop on the plane for another 8 hours to come home. And I was pretty sure Sir was cutting another tooth (he didn't, it was a tease). And possibly also catching the cold.

Oh, by the way. The Swiss version of Monistat 7? $26. I decided it was worth it. I almost bought a pack of 30 Breathe-Right strips for $30 before deciding that was NOT worth it.

And I got all excited when we got to Zurich and there were about 12 Starbucks all over the city. And then I ordered a venti latte and almost passed out when the barista demanded $8 from me.
And then I wondered how they can call it a "venti" with a straight face in a country where Italian is actually an official language.