My husband was holding an iced coffee that was dripping condensation all over a display of breast pumps, staring at the price tag like it had just insulted his ancestors. We were standing in the middle of Buy Buy Baby—RIP to that chaotic fluorescent store—and I was roughly eight months pregnant with Leo. I was wearing these maternity leggings that were supposed to be seamless but were definitely digging into my ribs, and I just wanted to sit down. But we couldn't sit down, because we were locked in a silent standoff over a baby stroller.
I wanted the uppa baby vista. I didn't entirely know *why* I wanted it, other than the fact that every other mom I saw walking around our neighborhood had one, and the leather handlebar looked so chic, and honestly, I was terrified of becoming a mother and thought that buying the "right" gear would somehow magically make me competent. My husband, Dave, was doing mental math and turning slightly pale. But I convinced him. I told him it was an investment, that it would grow with our family, that we would never need to buy another stroller as long as we lived. God, I was so naive.
The Car Seat Click That Ruined Me For Other Brands
Fast forward a month and a half, and Leo is here. He was this tiny, scrunchy little potato, and the very first time we took him out of the house, we used the Mesa infant car seat that clicked directly into the stroller frame. I've to admit, that specific sound—the heavy, secure *clack* of the car seat locking into the frame without needing to mess with any extra plastic adapters—was incredibly satisfying. It made me feel like I actually knew what I was doing.
My doctor, Dr. Miller, had totally freaked me out at our first checkup. She was like, keeping them rear-facing in their car seat reduces the risk of fatal injury by some terrifying number, like 71 percent or something? I don't know the exact math because I was operating on three cumulative hours of sleep and mostly just trying not to cry in her office, but it scared me enough to become absolutely obsessive about his car seat position. UPPAbaby actually has this amazing thing where you can book a Zoom call with one of their child passenger safety techs, and I literally had my laptop balanced on the roof of my Honda CRV while this very patient woman watched me yank the car seat base around to make sure it didn't move more than an inch.
But then, the blowouts started. We were at the farmer's market, I had an iced latte in the cupholder, and Leo just exploded in the Mesa seat. It was everywhere. I had to strip him completely naked in the back of the car. Thank god I had him dressed in the Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit Sleeveless from Kianao, which honestly saved my sanity that day. It has these envelope shoulders, so instead of pulling a mustard-yellow mess OVER his head and getting it in his hair, I could just shimmy the whole thing down his body and contain the disaster. Anyway, the cotton washed beautifully later, which is more than I can say for the actual stroller seat insert, which took me three YouTube tutorials to figure out how to detach and clean.
The Reality of Pushing a Luxury Tank
thing is no one tells you about having a baby and pushing a premium stroller around: it's heavy. Like, absurdly heavy. The Vista in its single mode is almost 28 pounds. When you're recovering from childbirth and trying to heft 28 pounds of folded aluminum and canvas into the trunk of an SUV while someone is honking at you in a Target parking lot, you'll curse the day you decided you needed a luxury status symbol.
But the basket. Oh god, the basket underneath the Vista is the size of a small apartment. I could fit my massive diaper bag, a picnic blanket, three days worth of groceries, and Dave’s jacket down there. It became my mobile command center. It almost made up for the fact that maneuvering it through the narrow aisles of our local coffee shop required the spatial awareness of an air traffic controller.
Browse Kianao's collection of organic, stroller-friendly baby toys here.
The Great Double Stroller Lie And Adapter Hell
Three years later, I had Maya. This was the moment the Vista was supposed to shine, right? This was why we spent nearly a thousand dollars in 2017—so it could become a double stroller. Let me tell you about the absolute racket that's converting this thing.
You don't just snap a second seat on. You have to buy the RumbleSeat, which is hundreds of dollars. And then you realize the seats don't fit together without adapters. So you've to buy "upper adapters." And maybe "lower adapters." WHY DO I NEED ADAPTERS FOR SEATS MADE BY THE EXACT SAME COMPANY FOR THIS EXACT STROLLER? I literally spent an entire afternoon sitting on my living room rug, surrounded by chunks of metal and screaming children, trying to figure out a configuration where Maya's feet wouldn't be constantly kicking Leo in the back of the head. I was sweating, Dave was hiding in the kitchen, and I felt like I was trying to solve a Rubik's cube in the dark.
And once you actually get both kids in there? You're pushing upwards of 75 pounds. Trying to pop that beast over a city curb is an Olympic-level deadlift. I distinctly remember getting stuck at a crosswalk because the front wheels caught on a pothole, and I just stood there in the street questioning every life choice that led me to this moment. Maya was in the bottom seat absolutely losing her mind because her first molars were coming in, just screaming into the knees of pedestrians.
Thank god I kept our Panda Teether Silicone Baby Bamboo Chew Toy floating around in that cavernous bottom basket. Honestly, this little panda saved my life more times than I can count. I just reached blindly into the abyss, grabbed it, and tossed it into the lower seat. Maya instantly grabbed the flat little bamboo shape—which is perfectly sized so she didn't immediately drop it onto the dirty pavement—and just aggressively gnawed on it while I finally heaved the stroller onto the sidewalk. It's food-grade silicone so I never panicked when she chewed on it for an hour straight, and it was the only thing that kept her quiet while Leo complained about the wind hitting his face in the upper seat.
Oh, and there's also the UPPAbaby Minu if you want a travel stroller, but honestly we just bought a twenty-dollar umbrella stroller at a big box store for our flight to Florida because I refused to let an airline baggage handler destroy anything I spent actual money on, so whatever.
What I Would Do Differently Now
Looking back, I think we bought the wrong stroller. The uppa baby cruz would have made so much more sense for our actual life. It's basically the Vista but narrower, lighter, and it doesn't try to be a double stroller. We could have just used the Cruz for Leo, and then when Maya came along, made Leo walk or use one of those little ride-along skateboards they attach to the back.
I spent so much time worrying about the gear. I thought having the perfect stroller would mean perfectly peaceful park outings where my kids played quietly on a blanket. The reality was usually me dumping out Kianao's Gentle Baby Building Block Set onto the grass—and they're fine, like, they're these soft rubber blocks that are totally safe and cute—but Leo mostly just enjoyed hucking them directly out of the stroller while we were walking so I had to keep stopping to retrieve them from the bushes. They're great for tummy time on the living room floor, but don't give them to a bored toddler in a moving vehicle unless you enjoy playing fetch with yourself.
Anyway, the point is, don't let the registry anxiety swallow you whole. If you decide to pull the trigger on an uppa baby stroller, just please make sure you honestly register the serial number online right after you buy it so you get the extended three-year warranty because things absolutely will snap or break eventually, and maybe go to a store and try physically lifting the floor model before you hand over your credit card so you know exactly what you're getting yourself into.
My Messy UPPAbaby FAQs
Do I really need the Vista or should I get the Cruz?
Honestly, unless you live in the suburbs, have a massive garage, and are absolutely positive you're having two kids back-to-back, just get the Cruz. The Vista is a giant luxury tank. I loved it for one kid, but pushing it with two kids felt like pushing a shopping cart full of wet cement uphill. Save your back and get the narrower one.
Is the Mesa car seat heavy to carry?
Yes. Every infant car seat is heavy once you put an actual human infant inside it, but the Mesa felt especially clunky to me by the time Leo was like, six months old. My arm constantly looked like it was bruised from carrying it by the handle. The fact that it clicks into the stroller without adapters is its only saving grace, so you don't have to carry it for long.
How do you wash the stroller fabric when your kid inevitably ruins it?
With tears and patience. You can honestly zip most of the fabric off the frame, but putting it back on requires a degree in engineering. I usually just took a scrub brush, some gentle dish soap, and a hose to it in my driveway on a sunny day and let it air dry. Don't put the canopy in the dryer unless you want it to look like a crumpled potato chip.
Are the RumbleSeat and the Toddler Seat the same thing?
NO. This is the most confusing crap ever. The "Toddler Seat" is the main seat that comes in the box with the Vista. It holds up to 50 pounds. The "RumbleSeat" is the secondary seat you've to buy separately to make it a double stroller, and it only holds up to 35 pounds, AND it only goes on the bottom. So your heavier kid has to sit on top closest to you, while your smaller kid is down low. It's weird, but that's how the center of gravity works, I guess.
Does the PiggyBack ride-along board genuinely work?
Yeah, it works fine, but your kid has to seriously want to stand on it. Leo used it for exactly three weeks and then decided he hated standing and would rather drag his feet on the ground while I pushed. Also, when it's attached, you kind of have to walk like a penguin with your legs super far apart so you don't kick the board with your shins. Wear comfortable shoes.
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