The Modern Restaurant at MoMA: What to Know Before You Go

For my birthday this year, my husband surprised me with an epic New York date: We visited Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) and then dined at The Modern, a two-Michelin-starred contemporary American restaurant.

The restaurant is housed within the museum, overlooking a sculpture garden, and surrounded by the lively Bar Room and the outdoor Terrace—both of which share a separate menu. (Tip: For a super snazzy event, The Modern offers the Kitchen Table, a front-row seat in the restaurant’s kitchen for up to four guests “with an enhanced tasting menu by Executive Chef Tom Allan.”) We dined in the Modern’s main atrium, our chairs turned slightly toward the garden view.

Our review? Worth it—for people who love food, enjoy a long dining experience, and like an attentive server. I will note that this restaurant had a slightly more casual feel that some of the other fine dining experiences we’ve tried over the last few years. For the most part, I enjoyed that distinction. The servers weren’t stuffy in the slightest, and I loved chatting between courses. It was perhaps the bathroom that was the strangest part. I couldn’t quite get the door to lock or find the trash can. But I’m not a restaurant critic, and I don’t really care if your bathroom is chaotic as long as I get a killer cocktail.

If you’re interested in dining at The Modern, or just want to see some fun photos, keep on scrolling. I’ve also sprinkled in some tips for getting the most out of your meal.

Visiting The Modern in August 2023

Reservations

The Modern restaurant accepts reservations up to 28 days in advance. The website turns over at noon (East Coast Time), and available spots fill up quickly. For example, on September 9th, the farthest you can book in advance is October 7th starting at 12:00 pm ET.

Payment and Tipping

The Modern runs like a typical restaurant, with the check dropped at the end of the meal sans tip. The one exception is if you’re dining at the Kitchen Table, the exclusive behind-the-scenes space with an enhanced menu. To book this option, you’ll be asked to pre-pay for your meal. This is currently listed at $325 per person.

The current prices for The Modern’s main dining room are $250 per person for the tasting menu (six main courses, two desserts, and a surprise or two) and $195 for the wine pairing. We opted for cocktails over wine, which cost $20 each. There is also a prix fixe option during lunch for $150 per person.

We enjoyed a $100 discount via the inKind app, a platform that allows you to acquire bonuses for dining at select restaurants in the United States. The best part was that the Modern didn’t make the discount awkward. It was very simple to use the app, and our server was happy to assist if we had any questions. Here’s more information about the inKind app (and a bonus!).

Dress Code

Jackets are not required, but most men were wearing one. Business causal seemed to be the norm. A formal dress code isn’t currently listed on their website or in the reservation confirmation.

Food & Drinks

There were a few stand out dishes—one of which is the chef’s famous “Eggs on Eggs on Eggs.” It’s composed of an egg yolk, sturgeon caviar, and egg sauce presented in an egg-shaped dish with a crispy bread slice for dipping. This was phenomenal, and probably the part of the meal I remember most. Other favorites were the sweet corn and peekytoe crab and the roasted lobster with lemon grass and summer squash. Ryan doesn’t always prefer lobster to other meats, but this was perfectly cooked and sitting in a delicious froth. The duck was also both crispy and tender. Every time I eat at a fancy pants place (not often), I forget that well-cooked duck is pretty magical. Ryan could have gone for a scoop or two more of few of things; I was in a comfortably full place.

The chef’s signature dish: “Eggs on Eggs on Eggs”

I didn’t think I’d care much about the sorbet, partially because I usually lose steam by the dessert, but the summer melon and verbena course was so refreshing. I had no idea was verbena was—if you’re in the same boat, it’s a flowering plants in the genus Verbenaceae, comprised of 150 different species. The sorbet had a light, lemony taste that paired well with the richer melon flavor.

We sampled four cocktails. Of the two I tried, the Paper Plane was very tasty, but I have a friend who makes them to perfection and he’s spoiled me on ordering them in restaurants. The Martini from their Classic menu was my favorite. It was mixed with “Brooklyn Gins, Vodka, Dry & Blanc Vermouths, Pear Eau de Vie,” and garnished with an apple that tasted both sweet and salty. I still think about that garnish, and I wish I’d had two!

Plate showing lobster in a yellow froth, topped with summer squash. A breadbasket and butter is in the background.

I didn’t leave a single drop of this broth! There’s a lobster hiding under the summer squash.

Service

We really enjoyed our server, Steve. He was both very knowledgeable and personable. At some tasting menus, the waiter doesn’t have a spot of personality, or you’re seeing new faces throughout the evening and don’t have the opportunity to connect.

A happy birthday message from “The Modern Team”

Museum

This date night was made all the more fun with a trip to the MoMA prior to dinner, which I hadn’t visited since their renovation. The museum reopened in October 2019 with a new collection space, but the world shut down soon after due to the pandemic. The museum is currently open until 7 pm on Saturday and 5:30 pm the rest of the week. We arrived about an hour and a half before our 6 pm dinner. This gave us time to see the Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition and much of the 5th floor. There’s a connecting hallway between the Modern and the MoMA on the first floor.

Visiting New York?

Attractions within walking distance include Rockefeller Center/Top of the Rock, The American Girl Place, Radio City, The Plaza Hotel, and Central Park. Times Square is about a 12-minute walk south.

Here’s a few things to consider packing for your trip:

  • Paper MTA map – Yes, Google Maps is great. But it’s not reliable underground. Either take a picture of the subway map and keep it handy on your phone, or get a cheap paper map.

  • Portable charger – My phone always runs out of juice when I travel. Here’s the portal charger I use for my iPhone (cables included).

  • Comfortable shoes – And don’t wear flip flops. There is a high probability someone will unknowingly step on the back of your sandal, break it, and leave you shoeless in Times Square.

  • Outlet converter – If you’re traveling from another country, don’t forget to get a travel adaptor. You can find a “universal” one for about $25—I’ve been using this outlet converter for about 10 years.

  • Layers – New York can occasionally get all four seasons in one day. Be sure to pack accordingly, and consider water-resistant shoes if lots of rain is in the forecast.  

“The main facts in human life are five: birth, food, sleep, love, and death.”
— E.M. Forster

The Rat on My Foot

I was walking with my friend Jackie toward the Bryant Park subway station. It was a hot July night. We’d just seen a Britney Spears-based Broadway show and then dashed across a steamy Times Square, pumping with tourists, sounds, and smells.

“There’s still something magical about Manhattan,” I told her while we descended the subway stairs. As I spoke the words—stars in my eyes, hope in my heart—a hefty, gray rat ran across my open-toed shoes.

“AHHHHHHH!” I screamed and we both took off running down the rest of the steps.

Three boys wearing polos and backpacks laughed at us as we scrambled onto the platform, Britney Spears bracelets blinking on our wrists like we’d come from a rave. They asked about our flashing bands, and we explained the premise of the show. I thought they’d continue to laugh at us, but instead they wanted to know if we’d seen the latest news: Britney Spears had been slapped! Or had she slapped herself? Either way, it was on camera, and they had opinions.

As we continued walking down the platform, I thought about what I’d been trying to say before a rat had rudely walked across my toes.

I’ve lived here a long time.
I don’t really like Times Square.
And I loathe rats.  

But there is something magical about Manhattan on a summer night. There’s simmering electricity in the air, a holdover from a hot afternoon. And it feels like there’s a certain freedom to this season. Summer makes people say, “yes.” Summer makes people do things they normally would not. I don’t know if it’s the late setting sun, the break from the heat, or something cosmic that no one understands.

I’ve always felt magic weaving through a warm evening. Maybe that enchanted feeling is just unabashed spontaneity—what will happen next? Whatever it is, the sensation is nearly tangible when you’re walking the streets of New York City.

I hope you feel it—I hope it overwhelms you.
I hope you say, “yes” into the air.   

“I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and machines gives to the restless eye. I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter their lives, and no one would ever know or disapprove.”
— The Great Gatsby

3-Day Itinerary for Paris: A First Timer's Guide to the City of Lights

I can’t believe it took me so long to visit Paris! As a teen, I was deeply obsessed with the French-centric movie, Moulin Rouge. I even named my hefty pug, Satine, after the main character. But with a multi-year pandemic, the need for a budget, and the birth of my first child, our original Paris plans were much delayed.

In December 2023, those baguette and cheese-filled dreams finally became a reality. My husband and I planned a three-night stay in Paris. Our goal as first timer’s in the city? See some of the hits, check out a few museums, eat like a local, and enjoy at least one fancy meal.

Brief Overview

  • Friday: Fly out of U.S.

  • Saturday (Day 1): Land at 8 am: Le Marais

  • Sunday (Day 2): Montmartre, Catacombs of Paris, Eiffel Tower, eat cheap

  • Monday (Day 3): Louvre, Notre Dame, wandering, fancy meal

  • Tuesday: Fly out at noon

What to Pack for Paris

  • Prepay for a digital eSIM so you can use your phone in Paris and not have to manually switch out the SIM card. We bought the 8GP Orange eSIM for our 10-day trip. I used my internet pretty frequently for maps and social media (not much streaming). I had about 1 GB leftover—it was a perfect fit for me!

  • Don’t forget the usual suspects, like an outlet converter, a small umbrella, and a sleep mask for the plane.

  • I purchased this sleeping contraption for the long redeye flight to replace my inflatable neck pillow. It definitely helped keep my head from rolling all over the place, and it was easy to fold up. Still, sleeping on a plane is very difficult for me!

  • See my full European packing list for more.

Hour-By-Hour Paris Itinerary

Here’s my copy-and-pasted itinerary for Paris, down to the hour. I’m very aware not everyone travels in such a structured way—but I’ve got limited time abroad and thus, must organize! I’ve also included notes with feedback, changes to our plans, etc. All reservations listed below were made before we left the United States. For popular attractions like the Eiffel Tower and the Catacombs of Paris, consider booking at least a month in advance.

Saturday (Day One)

  • 8:00 am: Land in Paris

  • 10:00 am: Drop off luggage at Paris France Hotel

  • 10:30 am: Walk around Le Marais 

  • 1:00 pm: Lunch - Breizh Café for Crepes - Reservation made.  

  • 3:00 pm: Orsay tickets 3:00pm Timed entry - Reservation made.

  • 6 pm: Head back to the hotel, check in if we have not, change clothes. 

  • 7pm: Dinner - Le Colimaçon - Reservation made.

Notes: Merde! Somewhere between checking in the hotel and lunch, I started to feel more than jet lag. By the time my food arrived at Breizh Café, I could hardly touch the delectable “La Tradition” galette (Ryan finished his crepe and my meal because it’s just that good). I don’t exactly know what happened—but I was either passed out or in the bathroom from 2 pm - 7 pm. We missed the Orsay and Le Colimaçon.

Happily, I turned a corner that evening and we made our way to Chez Janou for an incredible first dinner in Paris. Ryan’s aunt had recommended it to us, and I’m so glad it was our accidental destination. We huddled under cozy blankets in an inclosed outdoor seating area with mussels, pastis sippers, and an endless chocolate dessert. The waiter gave us a free shot at the end of the meal. He chatted with us about living in Paris and asked about life in New York. Then we walked the quiet, quintessential streets of Le Marais. It was such a lovely way to start out trip.

SUNDAY (Day two)

  • 9:30 am: Out the door—cab to Montmartre (+-30min)

  • 10:00 am: Morning in Montmartre 

  • 1:40 pm: Head to Catacombs (takes about 40 min either by train or cab from Monmartre)

  • 2:30 pm: Catacombs timed entry. Reservation made.

  • 3:45 pm: Head toward Eiffel Tower (Trocadero Metro stop for view) 

    • 4:15 pm: Arrive at the Trocadero Garden view area

    • 5:15 pm: Arrive at Eiffel Tower Esplanade, get in security line. Reservation made.

    • 5:30 pm: Eiffel Tower Timed Entry Elevator to the top.

  • 6:45 pm: Head to dinner

  • 7:15 pm: Dinner: L’As du Fallafel (often a line, no reservations)

  • 8:30 pm Little Red Door (often a line, no reservations)

Montmartre

Two-sentence history: Montmartre was a rural, independent village dotted with mills (moulins) that sat atop a hill just outside of Paris until 1860, when it became the eighteenth district (arrondissement). By the end of the 19th Century, the neighborhood was filled with brothels, cabarets, and artist studios, some of which included Monet, Renoir, Degas, Toulouse-Lautrec, Suzanne Valadon, Picasso, van Gogh, and others.

Notes: There’s not much I would change about this magical morning. I highly recommend the small Musée de Montmartre if you want to learn the history of the neighborhood and walk the gardens where Renoir once painted. There was a special exhibition while we were visiting, dedicated to Fernande Olivier, one of Picasso’s first serious partners—it was fascinating to read through her diaries.

The Place du Tertre and the narrow streets at the center of Montmartre were packed when we visited; it was the only place on our trip to France where we ran into real crowds. We ended up avoiding lines and eating lunch at a hole-in-the-wall, cash-only crêperie. There were park benches outside of the restaurant. We sat and watched locals buy baguettes, tourists look at maps, and shopkeepers greet each other on the street.

Catacombs of Paris

Two-sentence history: In the 1770s, the limestone mines on the outskirts of the city were beginning to cave in, which led King Louis XVI to name a commission to investigate the Parisian underground. Around the same time, overflowing cemeteries filled the city—between these two needs, the idea of the catacombs was formed.

Notes: I really enjoyed this attraction and the history tidbits from the audioguide but if you get claustrophobic, this one is not for you. The beginning of the tour winds you through small passageways of stone—even I was a little on edge. Toward the middle of your journey, the space opens up a bit more, and there are areas for you to pause and wander. Be sure to read this page before booking your tickets, and remember that you can’t take large items underground.

Eiffel Tower

Two-sentence history: This staple of the Parisian skyline is a wrought-iron lattice structure that was constructed from 1887 to 1889 to be centerpiece of the 1889 World's Fair. It’s one of the most visited monuments in the world, and can seen by some five to six million visitors each year.

Notes: This was our least favorite part of the day. In some ways, I’m glad I’ve been up the Eiffel Tower—but it just wasn’t that enjoyable! We’d bought tickets to visit the very top. It was a cold December night, so we couldn’t see much of the city and we were freezing—which is, of course, not the Eiffel Tower’s fault. But the worst part of the experience were the incredibly disjointed lines. There was a line and security station to enter the grounds, which was fine enough. There was another line and security check to take the elevator to the first landing. Then, there was a wait for the elevator in a big room with no formal queue, a scramble to join another line to get onto a second elevator to the top—and once at the very top, you were greeted by the angry line to get back down. The top of the tower was smashed with people (and the champagne bar was closed!), so I think we stayed up there for about 15 minutes before joining the angry line down. There was no signage, so people were cutting the line—which led to me basically playing a game of whack-a-bad-tourist with my elbows for 20 minutes. The second elevator to the ground level had a 30-45 minute wait—so we walked the rest of the way down in freezing wind.

All that to say, if I could do things differently, I’d likely go during the day and perhaps only to the first or second level. Or, to save money, I’d would re-do my favorite part of our Eiffel Tower experience: See it from the Trocadero Metro stop, take pictures while walking toward it, and—if the weather were nice—stopping for some food and wine in front of the impressive structure.

Dinner and Drinks

Notes: L’As du Fallafel is a causal, kosher Middle Eastern restaurant located in Le Marais that came highly recommended to us by a handful of people. There’s usually a line, but it wasn’t too long when we arrived around 7 pm on a Sunday evening. There were two queues: one for pick up and one for indoor dining. I had to guess to figure out which I was in (that night, it was the line on the right). We waited maybe 10 minutes—not bad at all. The food was delicious and came quickly. We watched the World Cup, drink a beer, and enjoyed crispy falafel pita sandwiches and fries.

The Little Red Door was our final destination of the day. Because dinner was so quick, we arrived slightly earlier than expected—which was great for beating the line. A bouncer let us through after a two-minute wait. The place was packed, but two spots had just opened up at the bar. We were greeted by a very friendly mixologist who, throughout the evening, was excited to tell us about each cocktail’s story and ask us our opinions. We both sampled three different drinks, trying to devour as much of the intriguing cocktail list as possible. From their Flourish menu, which debuted in 2022, we haven’t stopped thinking about the Olive (Little Red Door olive spirit, Baldoria Vermouth Dry Umami, nettle soda) and the Walnut (Little Red Door green walnut wine, Sab's Marc de Bourgogne). And because they mix so many ingredients in-house, the only way to recreate these cocktails is visit the Little Red Door again.

Monday (Day Three)

The Louvre Museum

Two-Sentence History: The Louvre Palace was originally built in the late 12th to 13th century under Philip II and was used as a fortress until 1546 when Francis I converted it into the primary residence of the French Kings. It was left to showcase the royal collection and other art when Louis XIV chose the Palace of Versailles for his household—but eventually, during the French Revolution, it was declared that the Louvre should be used as a museum to display France’s masterpieces.

Notes: To beat the rush, we arrived at the Louvre right after it opened and skipped the main entrance with the pyramids. Instead we took the metro to Palais Royal-Musée du Louvre, and used the underground Carrousel du Louvre entry. We waited for less than 15 minutes. (This was my husband’s research, and it saved us a significant amount of time.) There weren’t huge crowds of people at the museum the first hour of our visit, so we quickly found our way to the Mona Lisa and beat the long queue to snap a picture with this petite picture. We were also the only visitors touring Napoleon’s apartments—it was very surreal to stand alone in his cavernous, gilded chambers. This was my favorite part of our museum visit.

However, not all of our ideas were good ones: We’d planned to listen to the Rick Steve’s audioguide, as we’ve done many times before when traveling, while we walked the Louvre. But we couldn’t find where the tour began—it was an obscure room that even the guides had difficulty locating. Then, some of the art featured in Rick’s highlights tour had been moved, making the tour feel out-of-date and making us feel very confused (“This wall? No that wall! No actually… the next room.”) Still, his tours are free on Apple Podcasts, and they do an excellent job of explaining the context behind some of the world’s most well-known pieces of art. If you’re visiting Rome, don’t sleep on his 45-minute Sistine Chapel explainer.

The Louvre was both enjoyable and exhausting. We walked around, a bit haphazardly, from 9 am to 1 pm, and didn’t even scratch the surface of this gigantic collection. We’ll definitely visit again, and do a little more research into other must-sees. I’d already know I’d like to go back to the French Romanticism and Neoclassicism section (Rooms 75 to 77). We also totally missed the Egyptian wing as well as some Rembrandt and Vermeer masterpieces. But, alas, I got hungry.

Walking along the left bank

After the Louvre, we didn’t have specific plans until diner. So we wandered the Left Bank and popped into Cafe Latin for lunch—a very acceptable, albeit random pick with a nice steak tartare and house wine. We walked by the Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore, but there was a very long line to enter and I didn’t want to stop exploring the streets on a sunny day. Notre Dame Cathedral was the next stop. It was sad to see the destruction from the fire, but it was still an incredible structure to behold. I briefly started singing “Out There” to Ryan, but apparently he wasn’t a Hunchback super fan.

We likely could have fit another Museum into our schedule between lunch and dinner, but it was a Monday so many were closed—and we weren’t sure how tired we’d be after the Louvre extravaganza. I ended up walking intro grocery stores and pharmacies in Le Marais (always interesting) while Ryan took a nap.

Guy savoy

My birthday gift was a fancy meal in France, and Guy Savoy (pronounced Ghee Sav-wah) was such a delight. The restaurant is situated on the Left Bank with a view of the Seine and separated into six different salons. We dined in the Vert Galant dining room. Its description reads, “Because that old charmer King Henry prancing on the Pont Neuf remains in the hearts of all those who love life,” perhaps in reference to an equestrian statue of the king on the bridge, right outside of the restaurant. We opted not to do the tasting menu to be (slightly) financially savvy. Instead we each selected an appetizer, a main entree, and dessert.

Here, my friends, is where I ate the best bread in Paris. I have not been able to forget the artichoke truffle soup and truffled mushroom brioche served with truffle butter. Every aspect of this dish was incredible—but the bread? While devouring the fluffy, buttery, earth-enhanced layers, I made a noise that likely embarrassed Ryan. The waiter asked if I’d like another one, and I almost cried with joy, greedily accepting my golden, glutenous treasure. The scene repeated itself; the waiter came back with another basket of brioches and asked if I’d like a third. “Cruel man!” I screamed, tears streaming from my eyes. “Do not tempt me any further! I will fill up on your bounty and be unable to imbibe in the rest of this fancy fare!” OK—that last part didn’t happen… Instead, I gave him my most mournful eyes and said it was wise I resist.

Other highlights included the white burgundy we shared with our meal, the dry ice-cooked salmon made table side, and the Guinea fowl cooked three different ways. It was the perfect last supper in Paris.

“I had forgotten how gently time passes in Paris. As lively as the city is, there’s a stillness to it, a peace that lures you in. In Paris, with a glass of wine in your hand, you can just be.”
— Kristin Hannah, "The Nightingale"

The Ultimate Packing List for Traveling with Baby

Ah, to travel with Baby. Blowouts, shakes to the routine, and potentially disastrous missed naps might discourage you. But for us, traveling means seeing family, taking a step back from work, and showing Christopher a new piece of our fascinating world.

I’m mainly publishing this packing list for baby travel so I can continue to reference it. I’ve drafted a thousand incomplete lists on my phone, in emails to my husband, in texts to my mother—and on! The madness must end.

Bonus: Before becoming a new mom, I crowdsourced my friends’ favorite products for city living and travel. At the bottom of this post is a list of the most important items we’ve used over the past year to get Christopher from point A to point B.

A few reminders for flying with baby:

These are guidelines based on my experience. Always check your airliner’s specific family policies.

  • For domestic flights in the U.S., a child can typically sit on your lap for free until they are two years old. You need to specify when buying a ticket that you will have a child on your lap.  

  • For most domestic flights, you can check your stroller and car seat at the gate for free. They don’t count toward your luggage allowance.

  • For carry-on bags, most airlines will allow you to bring a diaper bag PLUS the airline’s regular carry-on allowance. At the time of publishing, the only airliner I know of that doesn’t allow this is Alaska Air.

  • Typically, infants flying on paid tickets get the same baggage allowance as adults, but if your child is on your lap, they don’t receive a luggage allowance.

  • Nursing or feeding during take-off and landing helped us distract Christopher and minimized ear popping. Even if it isn’t “feeding time,” a few ounces can go a long way. Also, I learned the hard way (rerouted in air!) that most flights don’t have anything besides coffee creamer on the plane, so always have extra milk.

  • Here are the TSA’s guidelines on traveling with breast milk and formula.

Packing Checklist for Baby (2 - 12 months):

In Diaper Bag

  • At least 2 day’s worth of diapers, in case of delays

  • Wipes

  • Foldable changing pad

  • Dog waste bags/plastic bags for dirty diapers

  • Light blanket

  • Spit up cloth

  • Bib

  • Extra outfit

  • Light jacket

  • 2 bottles, prefilled with water (after going through security, if flying)—or milk

  • Travel-size dish soap

  • Pacifiers, if your baby uses them

  • Snacks, if your baby is eating solid food

  • Favorite toys: Sophie, crinkle books, Captain Calamari, teething rings

  • Antibacterial wipes

  • Baby Tylenol

  • Copy of birth certificate

  • Passport, if needed

  • Optional: Your cell phone, charger, wallet, ID, insurance card, and necessary documents

  • Optional: Your breast pump, charger, and milk bags

  • Optional: Extra outfit for parent (I’ve needed this)

In Suitecase

Sleeping:

Clothing:

  • Two outfits per day (if no laundry) + maybe one more!

  • Socks

  • Swimsuit

  • Coat

  • Sun hat or winter cap

Toiletries

  • More diapers

  • More wipes

  • Butt cream

  • Nail file

  • Boogie Wipes

  • Sunscreen

  • Brush

  • Baby shampoo

  • Gas drops

  • Lotion

  • Snot sucker

Feeding:

  • Two additional bottles in suitcase

  • Additional formula in suitcase

  • Additional spit-up cloths

  • Optional: Bottle brush

  • Optional: Ice packs/cooler for milk

Equipment:

Baby traveling to Central Park, laying on a foldable changing map and waterproof blanket

Here’s Christopher in Central Park with his foldable diaper mat. The larger, waterproof blanket underneath him is from Little Unicorn. While I don’t travel with it on a plane, I would recommend it for picnics in the park and day trips to outside attractions.

Packing Checklist for Babies (6 - 18 Months)

All of the above (minus the gas drops, BabyBjörn, and pacifiers in our case), plus:

  • Squeeze pouches of food

  • Mum-Mum crackers

  • Baby toothbrush / tooth paste

  • At least two pairs of shoes

  • Easy-to-clean bibs

  • Sippy cups

  • Baby fork and/or spoon

  • Pull-ups or potty seat, if training

  • Outlet plugs / baby-proofing needs

  • Swim diapers / personal flotation device for beach trips

My Top 5 Favorite Baby Travel Products:

Guava Lotus Pack-N-Play
It’s easy to unfold, can fit in checked luggage, and can be carried with a handle or worn as a backpack. My sister recommended this to me as one of her favorite products, and now I pass on our sacred Fitzgerald knowledge to you. And yes, sometimes we use the Lotus as a make-shift (cozy) baby jail.

SlumberPod Blackout Tent
This tent is a lifesaver! It fits perfectly around our pack-n-play/playard. It’s particularly helpful in providing a dark environment for your baby when you’re in a hotel room—you can watch TV (quietly) or have on a light without waking your kiddo. There’s also strategically-placed pouches for your monitor and fan. We typically stick the sound machine right beside the SlumberPod.

Hiccapop OmniBoost Travel Booster Seat
We take this seat with us everywhere. Lots of restaurants don’t have high chairs; the OmniBoost Travel seat unfolds and hooks to most normal dining chairs. It can also sit on the floor at your friend’s house, in the sand, and in the grass at a picnic. When Christopher was about 4 months old, he started sitting up on his own. Since that time, he’s probably eaten at least two meals a week in the OmniBoost. It’s one of my favorite, most-used purchases.

Willow Breast Pump
You can’t (legally) nurse in moving car—but you can pump! The Willow is a cordless, battery-powered pump that is designed for on-the-go parents. It’s an expensive purchase, but most insurance companies will give you half off for this product. (I got my discount through Aeroflow Breast Pumps.) The Willow saved my family so much time on roadtrips: Before I was pumping, we’d have to pull over at rest stops for about an hour every two to three hours. This quickly turned a five-hour-roadtrip in an eight hour adventure. But no longer!

I found it convenient to purchase both the plastic milk bags and the reusable milk containers. I used the reusable containers when I was pumping at work or home and the plastic bags when out of the house. To keep the milk cold, I put ice in a 26-ounce Yeti Rambler and stuffed the milk bags on top of the ice. Random places I pumped: museums, LaGuardia Airport, the beach, Marie’s Crisis Piano Bar, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, and on.

BabyZen YoYo 2 Stroller
I really, really, really pushed back when my friends told me I needed two strollers. I’d already received the UppaBaby as an (incredibly generous) gift—how could I possibly need another one? Well, we live in Brooklyn, off a subway station with no elevator. I very quickly realized I could not carry my 20-pound kiddo up and down all the stairs in a 30-pound stroller. While the UppaBaby is still one of the most well-built and useful products we own, as we got more active around the 6-month mark, we found it didn’t always fit in a restaurant or the back of someone’s car. Enter, the YoYo. It folds up to fit in your closet or in the overhead bin of a plane. The aluminum stroller weighs only about 13 pounds, and it takes up much less real estate in small New York City spaces.

I hope this packing list helps with the chaos—and best of luck on your next adventure with Baby!

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.”
— Anthony Bourdain

Year One: Poop Soup and Precious Goop

I’m glad I didn’t finish writing some of the blog posts that I started last year.

It wasn’t a bad season—certainly the best since 2020.

But if I circle back to the first three months of Christopher’s life, it was a sleep-deprived, COVID-heavy mess. Being a new mom, even with a strong and generous community, can be very isolating.

Please note some scrapped blog post ideas that live only on the Notes app of my phone:

  • The 7 Things No One Tells You About Being a New Mom (honestly this one still has potential, but it’s been done)

  • Breastfeeding: It Sucks (a bit on the nose)

  • Why I Hate Breastfeeding (more on the nose)

  • Can Someone Else Please Wash the Parts to My Pump?

  • Planes, Trains, and Poop Soup

  • Facebook is Making Me Think My Baby Will Die, and Other Late Night Anecdotes

Maybe I’ll finish some of what I started. But while I was writing this past year, I couldn’t find my tone—somewhere between visual, humorous, and… what? There was a piece missing in my musings. And it seemed there was not one single extra hour in any given day to devote to my mind’s rambling narrative.   

There’s a period after you give birth that’s so animalistic: Feed baby, eat, feed baby, nap, feed baby, clean your wounds, feed baby.
Feed baby.
Feed baby.
Feed baby!

 Sometimes Christopher nursed 10 - 12 times a day, and never for less than 40 minutes. The cluster feeding from 3 pm to 8 pm was so incredible, I simply sat in my bra and binge-watched TV, baby attached, for weeks. I had been naively excited to have my body back to myself after birth, and the realization that this wasn’t an option for breastfeeding parents was probably the most difficult part of my entire becoming-mommy experience.

I remember sitting on the couch, completely exhausted, crying as Christopher cried. He wouldn’t stop screaming. I’d been blissfully surrounded by family for several days at a time, but now it was month two. My husband was leaving for work, and I told him through tired tears that I was jealous of his arrangement. Ryan, of course, did not want to go back to the office—if anything, he was probably sick to his stomach leaving me behind. But it was so deliciously wild to me that he was able to get dressed, walk outside, and step back into a world we used to know. I desperately wanted a taste of my prior exsistence. As I sat in my nursing bra and blue robe, bloated and leaking, with a screaming baby in my lap, I wanted a pre-pandemic late night in the East Village. I wanted to dance on someone’s rooftop while we drank cheap wine and talked about the new blah blah blah album. I would even take a quick run to the local coffee shop—anything but the couch and the boobies and the crying!

As we enter the one-year-old phase, I can look back on the baby days with much more fondness and gratitude. It was a special time Christopher and I shared together. My only purpose was to carefully introduce him to his new, often turbulant, sometimes beautiful world and to somehow sustain my own wellbeing. I’m not sure I understood how difficult this assignment would be for me—the extrovert, who thrives on to-do lists, a packed calendar, and the knowledge that I’m generally doing just fine. Motherhood is interesting because you don’t really know if you’re doing just fine or if you’re actually doing quite awful. The lack of expertise in being a parent mixed with the lack of affirmation from the small human you are desperately trying to keep alive can be a real kick in the tush. 

People tell you to cherish the baby phase, but for me, it was hard to do so until about month three. Then, everything started changing. If I didn’t like a stage we were in or a schedule we had, two weeks later, we’d be on a new one—Christopher rapidly morphed every two weeks until suddenly he was an exceedingly charming six-month-old. And after they start to smile? Watch out. You might become totally obsessed with your child. You might stare at photos of them while you’re apart, or bore people with weird details, like that fact that your darlin’ baby sugga pie likes hummus! And they can stack cups!

But even now, when I pass new parents on the street, I can’t help but give them the HOPE-YOU’RE-OK-eyes. Then, I say a little prayer for their sanity, and I think of the time Christopher pooped on me as our plane descended into Chicago. The ill-smelling brown soup leaked all the way into my shoes. Ah, babies.

“Christopher, can you dance?” He sits on his butt and starts aggressively bouncing up and down while whapping our dog, laughing at the joy of it all. He likes music and banging things together. Recently he’s starting “dancing” and “singing,” repeating the same sound and changing his tone.

He loves the neighborhood onigiri—a big rice ball wrapped in seaweed with a scoop of salmon inside—and recently he housed an entire avocado tostada. He typically wants whatever I’m eating. We stare at each other, chewing, smiling, chewing. Sometimes, he sticks a grubby hand out with a half-eaten piece of mush on it and smiles, wanting to share his precious goop with Mama.

He’s also suddenly obsessed with board books. One day, the concept of flipping through the pages just clicked. If I’m sitting on the couch, he’ll drag The Very Hungry Caterpillar to me with a huge grin and try to place it my lap. “Bah bah!” he exclaims, showing me his teeth and clapping.

 Perhaps, besides lack of time, I didn’t finish many a blog post this year because I couldn’t wrap up any of my narratives with a nice bow—motherhood doesn’t often have a nice bow. The humor, that comes with the passage of time, was missing. It wasn’t funny when Christopher bit me so hard a piece of my body fell off (!!). But now, I can see the relatable humor in the situation. Sort of.

There are also moments that are only retrospectively notable. It wasn’t significant when we met up with friends in Sunset Park for an afternoon stroll. But now, it makes me think of the huge smile Christopher flashed the first time “Dada” pushed him on the swings. It was a big day—we just didn’t know it until after the day had passed.

When Christopher offers me his half-eaten mush, or claps while we listen to music, or laughs when I read to him in a funny voice, I have that bow I was seeking in early motherhood.

I have my happy endings—and hardships and lessons and humor—when I can take a moment for myself and find them.

And oh the beautiful, chaotic moments you are surrounded by when you are Mama.

The Very Hungry Christopher: 1st Birthday Party

 

The Birth Story

"Let's get her in the shower! It’ll help."

I was standing in a hospital gown, digging nails into my husband’s forearms.

There was a nurse holding my stomach. Another one was fussing with the IV drip and Strep B antibiotics, trying to get the cords of liquid out of the way. Our doula, Kerri, was pressing into my lower back with all of her strength, combatting the ungodly phenomenon that is back labor.

Another contraction arrived, and the whole team tensed and pushed and breathed encouragement while I moaned like a wounded animal. I was on Pitocin, a drug that jumpstarts labor, so the contractions were coming nearly every other minute.

Suddenly, I was stripped and thrown into the labor and delivery room's shower. "Leave your socks on; we'll get you new ones," Kerri said.

"Don't get her hair wet!" a nurse shouted.

But where was my epidural? How had I gotten myself into this painful pickle?

The baby had decided to park himself in my uterus for an extra two weeks, so a few days prior to this uncomfortable moment, it had finally been determined that I’d need to be induced. The day of the Big Event, Ryan and I ordered Chinese food (sesame chicken) and rolled up to the hospital like we were checking into a hotel. On the anticlimactic drive over, I asked Ryan if he wanted me to fake scream so that we could have a classic pregnant-in-a-New York-cab movie moment. He politely declined my offer.

After a restless night of oral induction pills that had only moved me an additional centimeter, my labor stalled out the following morning. I hadn't felt any real contractions, even though the monitor suggested I was having strong ones. Was I superwoman? Was I so incredibly strong that I didn’t even feel the pains of birth? Was I… a true legend?

Turns out, no.

The next stage of the induction process was to break my “bag of waters,” as all the birthing books call it. Ryan and I wondered if I should get the epidural before doing so, but there was a tiny part of me that wanted to feel a real contraction. I’d experienced nothing substantial—the pressure in my stomach was less than a period cramp. So we proceeded without drugs and I’d get the epidural later in the day.

(You can now probably guess how I got myself into that painful pickle.)

The bag of waters had acted like a pad, keeping contraction pain at bay. But, after my midwife stuck what looked like a knitting needle up into my body and ripped it, a pressure began to build. Everyone left the room assuming it would take some time before I’d request drugs. After all, I’d been happily bouncing on a birthing ball and gabbing with the nurses two minutes prior.

“Epidural! Epidural!” I told Ryan, not long after the room had emptied. But there would be no quick drug fix. The anesthesiologist was busy—and my back labor began.

Back labor is a pain I have never experienced before. It felt like every contraction was closer to snapping my spine in two. I don’t know how to properly describe the feeling much more than that because I mentally detached from my body. My soul ran down the hospital hallway to the elevator, out the front door, and toward the La Bagel Delight across the street, leaving my bloated, writhing body on the bathroom floor.

About an hour and half after we broke my water, the anesthesiologist arrived and I finally got my epidural. There was a brief moment of peace. I slid into a happy, drugged mindset. I remember looking out the window and realizing it was Valentine’s Day. Maybe someone was buying flowers for their partner at the bodega over there?

But then, the worse kind of chaos ensued. Moments after I'd caught my breath, our baby’s heart rate plummeted. Tons of nurses briskly piled into the room; they all seemed to be talking at once. I knew something was wrong but couldn’t understand what.

I stared at Ryan.
The room was full of beeping sounds.
There was a lot of movement.
I was quickly flipped onto my right side.
A nurse turned off the Pitocin.
Ryan stared at me.

“Come back, baby,” I prayed silently, squeezing the sheets with one hand and Ryan with the other.

And then, as quickly as it had all started, the ordeal ended with a consistent beep, beep, beep coming from the monitors. His heart rate resumed at a normal pace and the whole room breathed a sigh of relief.

The rest of the labor was blissfully uneventful until it was time to push. There were some concerns that the baby was too big, and that we might need a C-section. But my doula remained optimistic that we could do this—that I could do this. She gave me little pep talks as we progressed. Our team of caregivers was incredible and I felt confident with these women by my side. The lights were low, and the music was loud. My upbeat birthing playlist blasted from a speaker by my right ear and we puuuushed. And we puuuushed.

Ryan prayed aloud for a safe delivery. He never took his eyes off of me, and in that moment I felt closer to him than I ever had before. My doctor readjusted me. A random wave of nausea hit, and I leaned over to throw up in a bag toward my left. In doing so, I’d accidentally ripped out my epidural. No one told me what had happened—but their faces all said the same thing: “Better make this quick!” So we puuuushed. And we puuuushed.

I’d been in this last phase of labor for about an hour and a half. There was an exciting energy in the room. We were all feeding off of each other’s adrenaline. It was a birthday party, and the one we were celebrating was about to make his entrance—the team could see him! We were so close. So I pushed once more, holding my breath and straining every muscle from head to toe.

I heard excited voices and a loud cry.
He had arrived.

Christopher Ryan Nugent, Jr. was born at 1:31 am on February 15. He weighed a whopping 9 pounds 6 ounces and was 21.5 inches long. After a quick exam, he was placed on my chest and looked me in the eyes.

"I love you, Baby," I said.

Very soon after, Ryan and I would be sent to a crowded room for the night and not sleep a wink as we breathed through our masks hoping COVID wasn't lurking nearby. That week, the Olympics would come to an end and Russia would heartlessly invade Ukraine. Images of carnage would fill my screen as I nursed in the middle of the night. Two months later our subway station would be the site of a mass shooting. With this little soul in my care, the world took on a new level of treachery. It was always there—but it felt heavier as I watched the chaos from my small apartment, and tried to soothe my child to sleep.

But in those few moments, right after Christopher was born, we looked each other in the eye and time paused just enough for me to promise I'd simply do my best to show him the beauty of life. And I knew he'd do the same for me.

“For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity.”
— C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Notes for Inquiring NYC Parents:

  • We gave birth at NewYork-Presbyterian Brooklyn Methodist Hospital in Park Slope, Brooklyn and had a great experience. I loved all of the nurses and doctors. The private labor and delivery rooms are spacious with showers and toilets (no bath). The have birthing balls on hand. You can dim the lights and play music. Our only complaint was that there were not a lot of reclining chairs for partners, so Ryan had a tough night during the induction. But a lovely member of the staff (who’d actually taught our birthing class) found one for us the next day.

  • After the birth, we had to stay in a shared room with another couple and their baby. Ryan and I squeezed into the same hospital bed. This was not ideal but typical in NYC. Before the pandemic, you could pay for a private room but in February of 2022 those rooms were being used for COVID-positive parents during the end of New York’s Omicron surge. Call your hospital ahead of time to know the latest policy.

  • Our doula was incredible; she really helped us out in stressful moments and always made me feel heard. And, crucially, she works at the hospital where I gave birth. So she knew the team, knew the policies, and always had the information we needed. You can get more info on Kerri Evers’ services, here.

  • For our hospital stay, we brought drinks in a cooler, snacks, several sizes of baby clothes, pillows, an extension cord, chargers, a portable speaker, a small sound machine, hair ties, magazines, headphones, toiletries, and I bought my own hospital gowns so I’d be comfortable. Diapers and wipes were provided for the baby. Mesh underwear, pads, and Dermoplast were provided for me, as well as shampoo, lotion, and conditioner.

  • We created a birth plan for our nurses that introduced us as a couple and listed our preferences/hopes for the delivery process.

  • For me, a birthing playlist was a must. In fact, I had several (thanks, Leiv!).

  • When we got home from the hospital, Christopher had a hard time latching. Our doula introduced us to a lactation consult who was incredibly helpful via Zoom. You can find Francie Webb’s information, here.

The Year of Vomit & Joy

When I envisioned being pregnant, I thought of myself writing more. I imagined being contemplative and whimsical about the future. “Are you OK?” My husband asked, as I spewed vomit all over his feet, the couch, and the carpet.

Read More

Into the City

I slip on a floral dress and sandals.  

It’s mid-May, and for the first time in a long time, I’m “going out.” COVID-19 is still silently slithering around the city, attacking at random. But I’m fully vaccinated, and the weather is warm with a pre-summer chill still in the evening air. It’s time to step into world and do one of my favorite things: share drinks and swap stories with friends.

I grab my gray face mask and walk to the train.

 Swoosh.

I descend into the belly of Brooklyn, my dress blowing up as the mysterious winds of the subway swirl around me. I pull down the floral fabric, pull out my MetroCard, and put on my mask.

Tap, tap, tap.

I quickly remember the choreography of refilling my card at one of the machines near the turnstile. I think about how there’s nothing worse that standing behind someone who can’t work the machines at rush hour when your train is about to arrive—a frustration I don’t miss and haven’t felt in over a year.

 Clank, clank, clank, clank.

The train is a-coming: I hop down the stairs prepared to jump into a car’s open door. But alas! This is not my train. I slow to a stroll and find a place at the end of the platform, away from most of the crowd. My husband always syncs up where he’ll stand on the platform to where the exit is at the station he’s disembarking. I appreciate the strategy. But most of the time? You’ll see me at the end of platform, away from the gum chewers, and boom boxes, and “showtime, showtime.” On the subway, I’m the opposite of myself in real life—I do not want to be where the people are. After nearly 11 years of underground hijinks, I rest in the rear.

 Clank, clank, clank, clank.

 Ah, there she blows. The doors to the D train open. I’m hit with a gust of cold wind as I walk into the car; this is a promising sign that there will be minimal odors. Great news for me. I plop into a plastic orange seat and listen to the end of a podcast as we fly through the tunnels of New York.

Ra RA ra ra raaaa!

I’m at the West 4th Station in Manhattan. As I exit the train, a group of Hare Krishna devotees enters it, dressed in their classic orange garb. One plays a trumpet in an upbeat rhythm. I pull off my headphones and notice the ping of finger cymbals as we pass each other.

Bap-bap-bap-bap, bap-bap-bap-bap.

I walk to the rhythm of a snare drum, played by someone standing on the sloping path up toward the exit of the subway station. It seems like all of us do. The beat keeps the crowd moving toward their destination. Walking with a purpose is another feeling I haven’t experienced in almost a year. I stroll around Brooklyn almost daily, and sometimes quite fast. But I never have anywhere to go, except in an endless loop that always leads to home.

Honk! Hoooonk!

The taxis on 7th Ave talk to each other and I walk slightly uptown toward the restaurant. I don’t even notice that blaring sound anymore—but I do today because it feels novel. There’s also a beautiful noise in the background. I can’t quite place it at first. It sounds like what fireflies look like in summertime: there’s a pulsing, glowing energy.

It’s the sound of chatter.

The entirety of the West Village seems to be filled with it! People with all different accents are talking, laughing, whispering, and clinking glasses. There’s the sound of a water glass being filled. A cocktail shaker jumps into the chorus. Someone scrapes their chair across a wooden floor, making a perfect bass beat.

It’s a symphony!
A symphony.
It’s the most beautiful symphony I’ve ever heard. There’s so much joy in their air, I’m almost overwhelmed. Chills creep up my arm as I slowly turn my head in all directions, standing on the corner of West 10th and 7th.

My heart is beating so fast that I hear in my ears, adding to the city’s chaotic rhythm. But it’s not panic. A jolt of adrenaline rushes though me—I want to dance! Or cry? Instead, I just laugh. I laugh and walk toward the restaurant.  

I see my friends waving at me. There are squeals as we embrace, adding to that magical symphony that is now bleeding into the background of the evening. It will be forgotten in a few moments, as we order drinks and share our tales from a year full of oddities.

But I heard it. I heard it for the first time in so long.
That tangible beat of the city on a warm night.
That electricity you can almost taste.
That buzz of people colliding.
It beats on.

West-village-new-york-2021
“New York has an energy that takes root inside of you. . . . [T]he mysteriously human element about this place can make you fall in love and break your heart at the same time.”
— Renée Carlino