No road trip can be planned without the Mother-In-Law’s respective doomsday advice about getting our new child over the border. Maybe it’s our natural sinister air or Amy’s impulsive panic-response to border agents, but according to our moms, our baby will be confiscated and the next time we call home, it won’t be on a cell, it’ll be from a cell. Luckily it’s that same paranoia that motivated them to investigate and determine for themselves that a land border crossing only requires a birth certificate. This was presented to a pleasant, young US border agent who wished us well as we entered New York State via Niagara Falls.
I have to admit, seeing The Falls is always a highlight for me. Barring the casino-drama and downtown kitsch (which still has its place), this natural wonder is so accessible and incredible, it makes for fantastic ‘new family photo ops’. Call it our two-hour honeymoon.
The subsequent ride to Albany took all of our gas and ended in a midnight check-in at a rather seedy hotel that took the ‘un’ out of ‘unexplained ankle bites’. Through all the tolls and random pit stops, Baxter was a trooper—our little state trooper. But what will happen after two days of interrupted routine as our overstuffed wagon pulls into the valet parking at Boston’s swankiest hipster hotel?
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