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I am changing, my home is changing, and the former never feels further from the latter than during weeks like this. Change happens whether you're there or not, and that truth isn't always advertised front-and-centre by everyone who encourages you to chase your wanderlust.
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This first month in Córdoba has felt a lot like Frosh Week at university; there's always a new friend to get to know in my family/tribe/tramily of remote workers, and between WhatsApp and Slack, I can always find someone to grab food or drinks with if that's what I'm feeling. It would be a nightmare scenario for anyone with FOMO, because you quite literally cannot do everything at once.
As a mom to a one-year-old and step-mom to a 10-year-old I am far from a parenting expert. But what I am an expert in is flying with kids. Here's how we survived so many excursions with a baby.
My travel companion was my two year old Atticus (a man of few words) who surprised me by declaring enthusiastically: "Mexicooooo" as he looked out the window in wonder. No, we weren't headed to some coastal gated community or beachside all-inclusive. We had touched down in central Mexico.