Elizabeth's First Birthday Part II: The Puke of Tiredness

So we all had a really fun time at the zoo, and decided to call my cousin Ross to join us for an after-zoo drink as he works close to the zoo. We met up, Elizabeth fell asleep in her stroller, and we went to a pub in Camden called The Spread Eagle. Totally birthday-worthy.

Gina drank that whole pint of cider - she was feeling no pain afterwards, which turned out to be a really good thing. 

Grandpa Larry was jealous of Elizabeth who got to nap in the pub, so he just lay down on the booth for a little shut-eye. No jokes.

With Rossy after everyone woke up and we were ready to leave the Spread Eagle.

Then it was a decision time: go home to Cambridge for dinner, or eat in London & go home afterward? It was Larry & Gina's first day in London, so we decided to eat in town - and you know those times when you think, "this isn't the greatest idea we've ever had . . . but oh well, let's just do it"? Yeah, it was one of those. Elizabeth had had a long day, and lots of excitement already, but . . . how hard could a dinner be? There were 4 adults to take care of her if she got squirrelly in the restaurant. So we went strolling in Camden town - a clear challenge when you have a big stroller and the streets are packed like this:

And even harder when every so often you come across someone like this, and you have to take a moment to appreciate how hard she worked to look like that:

But eventually we chose this french restaurant and sat down to eat. Well, Elizabeth didn't sit, but she wandered around the corner by our table, and then was pretty much unhappy for the remainder of the meal. We took turns walking outside with her so she wouldn't disturb the other people in the restaurant. I gulped down my wine (thank goodness for wine) and we left. Here is a photo of Gina & Larry, carrying Elizabeth back to Camden Town tube station

About ten seconds after this photo was taken, Elizabeth projectile puked all over Gina's white coat, and all over her leather bag. And all over the sleeve of her onesie (that was underneath her party dress). Barf. So we quickly get her onesie off but I didn't bring a change of clothes with me because she hasn't needed a spare set since before we moved to England. M & I put her party dress back on, and her little lamby coat, and she is all clingy and sad - keep in mind it's already 8:30ish, and she has been on the go since 8:30 am - poor baby!

Gina wipes down her jacket and BAM we're out of baby wipes. Obviously. Gina runs into a drug store & buys some more wipes, and phew, everyone's okay, baby wipes to the rescue!! Then we get on the tube. Oh, keep in mind we are in Camden (aka community of bars & clubs & restaurants), on a Friday night at 8:30pm, so there are a million people walking towards cool funky restaurants, getting ready for a night out. Tons of girls in short dresses & heels, and groups that look like they just stepped out of a magazine. It was so embarrassing - she smelled so bad. We get to Kings Cross and, of course, we missed the train we wanted - obviously - and had to fast-walk to another train that leaves from the opposite side of the station. Why do they schedule trains that go to the same destination only 10 minutes apart and 10 platforms away from each other?? Help us out here, train schedulers!

E was in her stroller now, so we get on the train to Cambridge, and obviously she has a massive, massive poop. So M & I are trying to change her non-chalantly on the train in her stroller because the carriage with the toilet is obviously on the exact opposite end of the train from us - and changing a diaper on a train is really not done here. Finally she fell asleep and we got to Cambridge. And then the bus that goes all the way to our house had stopped running because it was so late (9:45ish), so we had to take this other bus & walk home. She didn't get into her bed until about 10:30 and Matthew & I were totally exhausted

In hindsight, it was kind of hysterical - when I say projectile vomit, I mean it, it was like a fire hose of puke. But at the time, totally distressing - my poor baby! Turns out you really can have too much of a good thing when you're only one year old.