everything but the proverbial sink

Alexander was two weeks old the first time he left the city; we were going to my sister’s for Thanksgiving. I left the house with a car seat.  A change of clothes, just in case.  Diapers and associated products.  Multiple bibs. Bottles for water. Oh, and the nanny.  It was a lot to pack for an afternoon out.

And when Alexander was a few months older, there was even more stuff to take.  Bottles.  Food.  Toys and other diversions.  A high chair maybe. And stuff I’ve probably since forgotten. My friend M, whose son Sam is three years older, described each excursion this way, “Every time I leave my house it’s like fleeing Poland.”

M arrives today for a three-day visit. Her big SUV is fully packed, as if she's still fleeing. 

There are things for Sam, who now lives here:

• Case of Gatorade.
• Case of water.
• Box of Nature Valley Granola Bars.
• A bag of clothes Sam left in Boston when he was home last week.
• A bag of clothes his girlfriend left when she was up last week.
• 3 pair of pants and a couple of shirts M ironed for him.

And there are things for me:

• A tempurpedic twin mattress to replace Alexander’s (she has one she isn’t using).
• Two small suitcases with stuff I had left behind when I was visiting her.
• Shower liner and rings as a temporary fix for my door-less shower.
• Clementines (in case there's a shortage in New York City).

For herself, M brings little.

My doorman, who helps unload the car, thinks I’m getting a new roommate — guests don’t usually bring their own mattresses.  Or their own shower curtains. I even bet if I had needed a new sink M would have brought one of those too.   Ah, but she knows I just got one.