Recently Skylar learned he could take half a breath and fourteen seconds off of work for a vacation so we thought, what the hell. Let's fly our child and everything we own to Paris.

We've had friends tell us, knowing we love to travel, that we shouldn't stop doing just that simply because we are responsible for a tiny human life who—and this is new—needs both of us to be giving him direct eye contact and touching him with all four of our collective hands at all times in order to continue to offer us peace.

Parenthood is joy. Joy is parenthood. And I haven't accomplished anything in my life in twelve months.

I learned, not at all to my surprise, that Skylar and I have completely different views on how to pack for a trip with a one-year-old. You see, I weigh mumble mumble pounds and only pack a suitcase that is not even a quarter of my weight for a two-week international trip. So if you apply that ratio across the board, our human child should not need a bag that exceeds the poundage of a worn boot.

A onesie, a pacifier, a diaper. Throw in a couple of luxury items, like a beret and a baggie of Cheetos, and call it a day. Surely anything beyond that turns us into Marie Antionette. But with fewer dresses. And better hair.

Skylar sees this world differently than you and me. (Yes, I have decided you all agree with me. This is my website, after all. If Skylar wants to start his own website and have you all be on his side, no one is stopping him. Besides me. I would stop him.)

Skylar went out and purchased a suitcase that came in a size I didn't even know the human race had yet invented. He must have purchased it directly from NASA. I can't prove it, but the volume of this thing felt like a government secret. This suitcase could have fit every single one of you. We could have brought all of you to Paris with us. AND my wig collection.

But no.

This man packed this suitcase with a museum's worth of infant paraphernalia. He brought stuff I didn't even know we had. Nay, stuff I don't even think came from the human race. There were baby supplies in that suitcase that I'm certain were extraterrestrial.

Every time I complained that he was packing too much, he would give me a look that I can only describe it as "Single Parent." Then he'd take a deep breath and go on back to his business.

I felt like the goddamn family from The Grapes of Wrath when we arrived at the airport. By the time we unloaded the Uber to make our way to check-in, I was already applying for peach-picking jobs in California.

We had to tie a mountain of supplies to my back, like a pack mule, as I, hunched and groaning, walked through the terminal. They didn't even make me go through security. They took one look at me and decided I had been punished enough. (Punishment is TSA's only objective at this point.)

We had to gate check so much shit, they tied an extra 747 onto the back of our plane as a flying U-Haul just for our stuff.

Our child decided to reward my patience and sacrifice with a ten-hour nap on our flight to Paris.

Now, you all know I would never ever complain about anything in my life. It's not like me to be critical. I'm just here to smile and say things like "well isn't that just the cutest."

But I now feel like the universe gave us that experience with that child on that plane as a down payment. We are never allowed to be annoyed about anything ever again. And we have to start paying our taxes.

We rented an apartment in Paris and just planned to stay there for the entire two weeks, apart from one night where we went to visit our friend, Gabby, in Normandy.

I highly recommend following Gabby (Design Mom) and reading her books if you aren't already. Gabby and her family are so cool they win popularity contests at high schools they didn't even attend.

We arrived in Normandy on West's first birthday and Gabby had decorated the guest house where we stayed with balloons and toys and a wrapped box with a French baby rain jacket in it that is so cute God makes it rain wherever we are now because she wants to see West wear it.

I'd be lying if I told you we went to France for more than one reason. I mean, we had a great time wandering Paris and eating cheese. But we went on this trip for an extremely important mission we've spent weeks looking forward to executing.

On our last full day in Paris, we donned our child in French apparel, found the perfect spot, and made this happen.

He may not remember Paris, but Paris will certainly remember him.

~It Just Gets Stranger